


Perfect Deceptions

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: An enormous amount of characters seriously, Betrayal, Death, Eventual Romance, M/M, Medival AU, Prospit vs. Derse, Sexual Relations, could be seen as dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:45:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as second-in-line for the throne of the Kingdom of Light isn't easy.<br/>Your name is Jake English, Page of Prospit, and although born with a gleaming silver spoon in your mouth, this by no means brings alleviation to your existence. You have little breathing room, confined to strict protocols and harsh battle trainings to keep you on your toes so that when you finally collide with the loathsome, violet clad Derse scum, they'll at last regret murdering some of the only family you have left.<br/>Lately, everyone close to you has been disappearing into secrecy in favor of their more important business and positions than the one you hold, and you wonder just how needed you are, anyway.<br/>But from the pit of your loneliest times comes forth Dirk, a perfect angel sent in to you as your light in your darkness, whose lowly peasant of Prospit status makes your veiled moonlight meetings all the more thrilling. Intriguingly enigmatic, quick thinking, and exceptionally skilled, he's everything you could ask for and more.<br/>Although, strangely enough, you don't recall ever seeing a boy as golden-haired and triangularly-spectacled distinctive as Dirk anywhere in Prospit.<br/>Oh well. Maybe you just need to get out more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ==> Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill your head with dreams, and really, really wish.

_Imagine spending your whole life knowing there's so much more out there for you. You spend your life itching to run free. Dying to break the chains surrounding you. Waiting for something remarkable to happen._

_And then one day, your wish comes true. And you finally have everything you ever wanted._

_Blissfully naïve that nothing was ever, ever this perfect._

_But you get yourself too caught up in the web, blinded by the empty promises filling your body, and by the time you realize it, it's too late._

_All of this was nothing but a lie._

_You were a mistake._

_You were the flaw in the plan._

_And none of this was ever supposed to happen._

* * *

==> Adventure.

There's nothing you did better.

The dried, ashen orange pine needles crunching beneath your carefully placed footsteps. The wind tumbling in through spindly, winding, dew-dusted branches to stir vortexes of fallen leaves. The taste of the crisp, enticing day on your lips, curling it's finger in a beckoning motion to tap into it's potential.

This was where you belonged.

The call of the wild was strong in your heart.

You were running now, feet pounding against the earth, accelerating until your breathing was ragged and your heart rammed with iron fists against your ribs with the surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You'd snatch a vine in blind sprint and continue running, bringing it with you, before hitting top speed and removing your feet from the ground to wrap around it, whooping with joy as your momentum propelled you backwards and then shot you forwards once more. The breeze whipped against you, but you welcomed it. Dared it. Challenged it to do better, to knock you off.

It could not.

With a zealous cry of triumph, as the vine's arc reached it's highest point, you kicked yourself off it, enjoying the electrifying sensation of falling for the briefest of time lapses before bunching your body up to land in a squat, balls on your feet connecting with the ground and absorbing the impact, one hand on the ground between your knees, the other stuck straight out to the side.

That sort of thing takes eons of training and mastery. And you have, through the long, tedious trails, finally perfected it.

You had villains to fight. Places to discover. Puzzles to decipher. A world to explore!

And absolutely nothing was ever, ever, EVER going to stop you!

"Jaaaaaake!"

"Jake?"

"Jakey, where'd you go? Come on, it's nearly dinnertime!"

...Except maybe that.

You sigh and straighten back up from your position, dusting your vibrant yellow, moon-emblazed robes off with quick flicks of your wrist, casting aside flecks of dirt off the bright gold fabric because lord knows what would happen if you came home with a dirty outfit and Maid Maryam saw you. You look up and turn just in time to catch site of three children, all around your age- which, for you, is the legally adventurer certified age of seven and a half- pop out of a bush in harmonious synchronization, all yelping at the same moment when they tumbled forward on top of each other and groaning in harmony in a nearly comical fashion that left you trying not to laugh.

Your family. Gosh, you loved them.

There were two girls and a boy, all in outfits nearly identical to yours. It was simply the youthwear of your home and would be customized more as you all grew older.

The boy...kind of...sort of on top, if "on top" was the right phrase for the messy, squirming pile that didn't even have a clear bottom- that's John Egbert! He's a little under a year younger then you, but your partner in crime in everything! He was nothing short of the feline's highest-quality sleep finery in your eyes. He was funny, smart, and boy, could he play a prank! You two were always being compared about how painstakingly alike the pair of you looked, although all you could see where the differences between you. But...from a non-subjective standpoint, yeah, the fact that you two were related couldn't have been more obvious. You both had glossy obsidian locks always messy and sticking up at odd angles. Even though, for the record, your hair stuck up differently. He had funny sort of double cowlicks while your hair tufted naturally upwards in a peculiar style that had frustrated you to no end when trying to make it lay flat. But stubborn as it was, your mop of dark tresses never succumbed to long hours with a hair brush and hair goop and your grandma (Grandma...) trying to tame it. And so alas, you had nothing to do but accept it. And it grew quite fondly on you. You also both had seeing spectacles and similar physical statures along with other features, including your buckteeth, but...but you were different, too! Your skin was more of a naturally olive tone while his was a lighter, more washed out color. Most importantly, you had marvelously intense emerald eyes while your best friend cousin person had irises the color of the sky in the dusk hours.

Jade, his twin sister, was whimpering beneath him reminiscent of a sad puppy. If John was a girl, he would look exactly like Jade. If Jade was a boy, she would look exactly like John. She had thick hair the same shade as yours rolling down her back, often tied in a loose French braid with a lovely mint green ribbon to manage it better. She too had glasses, although hers were round and more feminine. Behind them were a pair of huge, thick-lashed lime green peepers that were always wide with wonder and amazement. You adore Jade, especially that about her- her fascination with the world and radiant enthusiasm about anything she could apply it to! She has said before that she had a keen interest in studying the stars, a preferred career of hers if she could choose when you were all grown. Being able to choose a profession, however, considering your identities may not be the easiest task in the world.

Last but certainly, certainly not least...Jane Crocker. You can't help but sigh softly and madly try to straighten yourself in the lovely lady's presence, and by jove, if she ever was one. Out of the group, she actually wasn't related to any of you (Although with her looks she could certainly pass with saying that she was), but you had all know her since before any of you could remember, so she was as much of family to any of you as the rest of you were to each other. She hails from a long line of nobility and wealth, being the daughter of a ridiculously successful gourmet cooking and baking company. Jane was a beautiful girl, no doubts about that. Just like the princesses in your fairytales and plays- and as sweet and kind and smart and perfect as them too! She was a small, fair-skinned girl with soft, short black locks sticking up in the prettiest way possible, sporting oval spectacles that rested in front of her cyan, aquamarine eyes. And if they weren't the most beautiful shade of blue you had ever laid yours on. Like sparkling pools of delicately frosted sapphire, glimmering in the sunlight...

==> Snap out of it, lover boy, you're seven.

Seven and a half! And a true gentleman's heart abides by no age!

==> At least introduce yourself, god.

What, you haven't figured that out by now?

Your name is Jake English.

And you, along with your three equally as dirty and kicking pre-adolescent minors halfway in a bush, are the royal family and inheritants of the mightiest kingdom the land of Skaia has ever seen. Prospit.

...No, really, you are.

Prospit is the Kingdom of the Sun, Hope, Light, and all that is good in the world. It's quite the expansive reign you guys will have some day. Everything the light touches will be yours.

Mostly everything.

And...only partially yours, to be honest.

See, you weren't next in line to be the new king of Prospit. That'd be, of course, John.

You're just second.

John was the heir to the land, being the first- and only- born son of the branch of your family that carried royal blood and fed the throne. (You were still going to be powerful, as the kingdom's Royal Page, just not king.) And while Jade was technically a few hours older, she was unfortunately female, bumping her rights as heir of the kingdom down to third because of you, the strong, healthy male cousin which nabbed you the rights to second. You had to admit you always felt a bit of guilt at that, being the chivalrous soul you are, but you assure Jade that went John was king and you were his co-king (which you had decided on long ago) she could be your co-co-king, which she was more then ecstatic with.

Life was going to be good when you guys grew up.

John, as previously mentioned, was going to be the ruler of Prospit someday. That bit was pretty much a given. And you were going to be, as also previously mentioned, his co-ruler! The two of you- the most righteous pair of kings to ever breathe if that world ever did lay eyes upon a thing- were going to be the best pair of monarchs EVER in the history of monarchs. Throw balls every night, lead adventure expeditions, ban peanuts, go exploring new worlds and claiming them for Prospit- it was going to be amazing!

And neither of you could hardly wait!

==> Get back to reality.

But you guess you had to.

"You guys!" you squeak incredulously. "I was in the middle of something! I was having an adventure!"

"It's time to eat though!" replies Jade quickly, shaking her body in a fruitless attempt to throw John off of her. "We're hungry!"

"They said we couldn't eat without you!" groans John, casting you a glum pout. "I'm starving!"

Jane tries worming her way from under the heap, leaving John and Jade to collapse on each other with alarmed screeches at the bottom of their messy pyramid leaving. "...And so we came to find you!" she finishes, dusting herself off before looking up to meet your eyes and golly there goes your heartbeat right out the metaphorical window. "Hoo hoo, we figured you'd be out here in the woods, silly boy!" She reaches out to gently caress her heavenly soft fingertips against the skin of your cheek and wow her skin smelled really good and clean and in reality she was just playfully pinching your cheek but angels were singing, Lordy Lord.

"S-sorry," you sputter with a sheepish smile. "I am impeccably fond of this place however!" You pride yourself as having the widest vocabulary of anyone your age around. Even if you only vaguely knew what some words meant. Still, great to use to impress people. "I'm free here and it's fantastic!"

Jane frowns. "Isn't it dangerous? And you never tell the guards you're going out! It's always a wild goose chase trying to find you Jakey!"

"Telling them I'm going out abolishes the purpose!" Abolish is fancy talk for ruin, you learned.

"Sounds fun," cooed Jade. "Wish I could sneak past 'em so easily and do this!" She did have it slightly harder, though. As the princess her security was a degree tougher to breach than yours.

"Well." You grin and twirl, kicking one ankle behind the other and casually giving a tug to your embroidered lapels and quickly jerk your head in a nod, a totally suave move you learned from observation. "An adventurer needs to train!"

"And a king needs his food," John whines relentlessly, apparently very bent on getting his supper. "Come on! Jane's family is over, they made pork loins and cake! That's my favorite!"

You take one back look over your shoulder, of the sprawling, lush forest stretching behind you, dusted with dew, crying out your name to come back to it and explore.

Yet you look back at your cousins and ladyfriend, expressions ranging from waiting to irritated, and sigh. You'd give anything in the world for freedom.

"Oh, alright, alright, hold your ponies, I'm coming."

* * *

==> Jake and John: Commence Post-Dinner Festivities.

"And you tie it like so...not so loose that it'll open falling down, but not so tight that it won't at all..."

"Yeah? Then what, then what?"

"Shush, quiet down unless you want them to hear us! Okay. So. You stand up..."

"And then?"

"Lock onto your target..."

"Yes, yes?"

"Aaaaaand...let go!"

==> Pouch full of wet flour: Descend.

Splat.

"WHAT THE HELL?"

You and John instantly rocked back from the embellished banister, clutching your stomachs in laughter. Oh God, you got him so good! His face!

The victim of your prank- about thirty or so feet below you on the yellow and white checkered castle floor, the two of you on the staircase- steamed with anger at the substance suddenly clinging to his wild black hair in clumps. After his initial surprise ebbed off, it alarmingly quickly flipped to rage, looking up at the two of you and comically jumping up and down and waving his fist. "YOU TWO! TORTURING YOUR HUMBLE KNIGHTS ISN'T EVEN FUNNY, IT'S CRUEL!"

Not like the pair of you could resist. Knight Vantas, who was always too grumpy for his own good anyway, had been directly below you, unaware of his onlookers plotting his sticky demise. John was the king of pranks, and his antics never ceased to crack you up. And wow did he have good aim.

Knight Vantas was your kingdom's newest knight, not even that much older then you two. He had been under careful instruction of Knight Pyrope for the past couple of years, only having just reached his status as a fully realized protector of Prospit.

They were both a sub-species called 'Trolls', who have been, for eons upon eons, the guardians of the kingdom. Each and every one had a special job, and they lived amongst you in the castle as your loyal subjects.

Knight Vantas' older brother and Knight Pyrope's (who was totally awesome!) little sister were Seers, in charge of receiving visions and interpreting them. You liked Seer Pyrope and her spunk an awful lot. Seer Vantas, however, was ineffectual at his job- he'd interpret a vision, sure, but refuse to elaborate on it because "it was too offensive."

The Nitrams were cool! Tavros was the younger, timid one and a fellow squire, while his older brother, Rogue Nitram, was revered throughout your kingdom for his skill. Rogues were very important, as they were in charge of special missions, usually of the stealth kind, and could pick locks with their eyes closed and one hand behind their backs. Rogue Nitram fascinated you- he was full of tall tales that entertained you for hours on end. One of his more remarkable features was the red tips of his defaultly black spiked-up hair and vest composed of bones. Yet everytime you asked about them, the story changed. One day it was "I used to be a totally ferocious warrior, you see. My hair is dyed with the blood of my enemies and my clothes are made out of their remains!". Yet the next, "One day I ran into a group of natives in woods, which was sweet. Then they like proclaimed me their effing god, right? They dye my hair and give me this sacred vest full of spirit bones and bow to me as I walk off. Must have been the wings." (Another strange feature was the fact that he had a pale, translucent pair of fully functioning wings from his back, although he didn't talk much about those. No one ever complained though, they were great help on his missions.)

The Makaras...disturbed you, to say in the least. There's Bard Makara and his older brother, "Prince" Makara, called such for being a long time consultant of the royals, therefore honorary royalty. Prince Makara was okay, you guess. Even if you can't communicate due to your lacking knowledge in sign language. And you had no idea what was wrong with his younger brother.

Then you had the Serkets. You weren't overly fond of Vriska, who was under the apprenticeship of Rogue Nitram. She rubbed you in all the wrong ways, and was inexplicably cruel to Tavros, who you got along well with. However, John and her seemed to be very good friends, so you supposed there was something good in her that you just couldn't see. Her older sister, Miss Serket, though...wow. What a beauty. She was so far out of your league (as Jake and Miss Serket, not as second-in-line for the throne and the castle's librarian) but she was amazing. She was your booktender, a chamber you spent many a long hour curling up to and escaping in fantasy stories. She was so smart, and knowledgeable, and pretty, and...you go weak in the knees at the thought.

As for the Maryams?

==> Jade: Go talk to the Maryams.

You are briefly now Jade Harley-Egbert, princess of Prospit.

You are pleased to find you have some free time on your hands. Perfect! You know exactly what you want to do!

You skip down the main corridor in the right wing of your great castle, making a sharp turn at the end to one of your favorite places in the whole place...the observatory.

You've always been captivated beyond words by the way the sky seeped into a pitch black as the sun fell ever night, before soon being lit up with thousands of glittering gems sewn into the beautiful, rich fabric of the night.

So, you spend alot of your time here. Or whatever time you can.

The observatory is a circular, metal room, notepads filled with scrawled findings half-open on counters and quills peppered around the chamber. In the center is an enormous, gold-plated telescope, as you learned it was called, which is the most beautiful piece of technology you've ever laid eyes on.

"Hello your highness!"

Oh. Well, seems as if you're not alone today!

Smiling, you turn to Kanaya Maryam, writing in a journal behind you. She and her older sister who you haven't met yet are Prospit's dedicated astrologists, which is absolutely the coolest. Thing. EVER.

Kanaya is a troll your age, if not a little older. She had neat hair in an elegant style, a kind smile, and the awesomest fashion sense around. Instead of a bright yellow tunic, she customized it into a loose-on-top, tight-at-the-waist pale buttercup dress, with thick straps and a golden pendant, the moon on her chest beaded onto the fabric.

You wave cheerfully. "Hi! Just came in to take a look. Anything interesting?"

She pauses for a moment, tapping the plume of her quill against her chin. "Mars is particularly bright tonight. It's really quite astonishing. But...you may not want to stay around to look."

Your lips pull into a frown. "Why not?"

Kanaya's eyes widen a tad, lowering her smooth voice to a whisper, nervously glancing around as if afraid someone would hear. "My sister is her-"

"Are you Jade?

You whirl around to an older troll who looks an awful lot like Kanaya but with longer locks swooping up and swirling tattoos encircling her arms and spilling onto her chest, of which you glimpsed by the skin revealed by her gorgeous, tight fitting Prospit gown with a slit on one side of the leg. In the corner of your eye you catch Kanaya burying her face in her hands and shaking her head.

"Um...yes ma'am!" you reply.

"Princess of the kingdom?"

"That's me!"

"Oh sweet child." Before you know it, you are swept up into her arms, emitting a startled squeak as you feel her perfectly manicured fingers run through your hair, laying your head on her chest (which displayed an uncomfortable amount of cleavage.) "You are the eldest, yes?"

You try not to squirm. "Only by an hour?"

She continues stroking your hair. "Ah, but you aren't going to be queen, are you?"

You've stopped trying to resist, you're writhing now. You really want to be put down. "N-no?" you reply uncertainly.

"Ah!" She looks down at you, disgust plastered on her face. "How is that fair?"

"I-I don't really mi-"

"YOU were born first, but since you're FEMALE, rights go to your brother. And even after him, your cousin gets the big crown, not you! You have as much of a right as your brother to the throne, if not more! Don't you see? How sexist this all is? We are discriminated against by the ones we brought into this world because men think they just have exclusive rights to EVERYTHING, forget about women! And just because you were born a girl, something you have NO control over, you'll probably never live to be Queen of Prospit, darling. And how does that make you feel?"

"Uh. I. I-"

"But maybe someday in the future, civilization will wake up and realize what an idiot they've been. And women and men will finally be equal. But will that ever happen? No. Of course not. Because men will never want to get off their high horses and give even a little shred of well-earned power to women. And all of this is..."

Your eyes are wide. All you wanted to do was look at stars for a few minutes. You look pleadingly over her shoulder at Kanaya, who does nothing but give you a pained expression of sympathy and mouth "I'm sorry."

==> Be Jake again.

And there you have the Maryams.

While you were busy being Jade, Knight Vantas has been hopping around like a decapitated chicken and screaming insults at you two. You are pretty sure this is extra-fueled by the fact that this happened in front of the Pyropes, who are too busy laughing their butts off to do much. (It was no secret Knight Vantas had something for Seer Pyrope, which made this prank even worse. But at the same time, all the better.)

Even Seer Pyrope, who was blind, had half the mind to appreciate a good prank. "Karkat, calm down," Seer Pyrope snorts between cackles. "I'm not sure which is funnier- the thing or the way you loose your shit afterwards!"

"Ugh! I don't even care if they're royalty or not those little brats need to grow up!" He...did realize you could still hear him, right?

John hops up to his tip-toes to peer over the side of the railing, folding his arms on it and resting his chin on them. "We're training!" he chirps. "We're playing Prospits and Derse. ...And you're the Dersite!"

Knight Vantas snarls and glowers up at the pair of you. "Look, you think you can just bring a trained Dersite to his knees by dropping a package of damp cooking powder upon his skull?"

John shrugged. "Well, no, but it couldn't hurt."

There was everything good in the world...and then there was Derse.

Derse, your kingdom's counterpart, land of darkness, untruths, filth, ruffians, murder and dishonor.

From the moment a Prospitian is born, one of the first lessons they are taught is to stay away from that disgusting, dangerous, merciless land of the violet-clad scoundrels. The burning hatred between the two houses over centuries of years old cut deep canyons into stones and tainted the water crimson with bloodshed. You grew up on the tales of how Derse stole power and riches from Prospit and lied about it. How they would attack Prospits, a peaceful people, completely unprovoked.

Not that you needed much reminding on that. That's how you lost your grandma, all those years ago...

==> Elaborate.

You'd rather not. You don't like to think about it.

But, tuning out the ranting night and taunting heir in the background, you smile to yourself at the thought of one day when you're older, as the full-fledged regal page of Prospit, years of training under your gun holster belt, coming across a Dersite- defenseless and unarmed, just like your grandmother...

...And making them regret they ever touched your kin.

* * *

==>

The way that they thought that they could keep you contained was funny.

Really, all you had to do was throw something out the window and the guards outside the sleeping chambers would abandon their posts in the blink of an eyes to go check out the fake commotion. And you were free to flee.

So here you are, in the wee hours of the night- or morning, you weren't totally sure- propped in the crook of a branch in a small clump of trees in the middle of the village, a place royals are never to step foot in, concealed from view of the lot of onlookers beneath you.

Watching the stage come to life.

You can't remember when the first time you snuck out to see a play was- out of nothing but burning curiosity- but you haven't stopped since. Theater entranced and engulfed you, the rich stories told by actors unfolded before your very eyes. They exposed to you what you couldn't see beyond your confinements of the castle grounds and gave you a lingering taste of what the world was like, leaving you to kindle your dreams and wistful thinking.

In addition to giving you knowledge on the outside world, they also provided a huge portion of your colorfully expansive vocabulary and taught you how romance, loathe, and everything in between works.

Not only that, but with the actors who sounded so stunningly foreign and charismatic and charming and you devoted large portions of time emulating their way of speaking hailing from a land called Britannia, it gave you your self-appointed accent, as well.

Tonight's play was William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, a personal favorite of yours. The most masterful story of love and hate ever penned. You knew this story like the back of your hand, and planned on using some of Romeo's monologues to Juliet- which you could recite in your sleep- on a lady someday.

With a soft, content smile on your lips, you feel your eyelids begin to droop, weighted by the darkness of night and craving of slumber. You made a mental note to yourself that if you fell asleep here, you'd have to get up early tomorrow to get back in your bed to avoid any suspicion arising. (Not like that was ever much of a problem- most days you fell out of your tree, anyway.)

Your mind began to haze with black as the dark wing of sleep overtook you, Romeo exchanging gradually softer and softer vows with his lady.

Your last conscious thought before you slipped into slumber was nothing more than a few words.

 _What I wouldn't give for something_ _extraordinary_ _to happen to me, too._

 

* * *

_[Dream, little one.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpZAxjd5dg4) _

 


	2. ==> Councilbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the world shuts you out, does it realize that you yet remain?

 ==> Years in the future, but not ma- no, actually, a considerable amount.

"...So, you know, if you have a freetime to pass today, maybe we could-?"

A headshake. "Sorry, man. I have training and then council meetings. Boring as fuck but I still have to go, y'know?"

"Oh...that's quite alright. I understand, good fellow! Um. What about you then? Are you doing anything today?"

Hair twisted around a finger. "Actually, I have classes today. I'm learning how to make a medicine that'll cure headaches and brainfreeze! After that, I made plans to go map some constellations. I'm sorry!"

"Ah, no need for apologies, that's fine as well! Sounds thoroughly fascinating. And...I don't suppose you have any urgent plans, my lady?"

A shifting of weight. "We're going to visit family. My grandfather is ill, so we're going to pop in and pay him a visit. I really wish I could stay and do something, but I've got to go see him."

"...Plenty understandable. I'll just. I'll just, uh. Yeah. I'll go train or something. Thanks guys! Have a safe trip, fair maiden. Bon voyage."

A quick nod of three heads, and you were out of there.

Your name is Jake English, and you're sixteen and three quarters years old. And being a teenager really isn't as fun as you expected.

You were anticipating freedom, romance, and excitement.

Instead you got more rules, upheld your single as a sock out of the wash status, and hormones.

You feel the need to recap what all has happened since ten or so years ago, but honestly, there's not that much to tell.

You guys grew up.

Apparently, John was pretty flipping fantastic at handling maces or other various handheld swinging items. He was the first of any of you to receive actual battle training, starting when he was no older then nine. He, after a long day on the training ground to the right of the castle, returned for dinner, wide-eyed with excitement and babbling about how wow, he got to wear armor, wow, he got to feel a sword and oh my gosh he got to touch the horses!

You should've been irritated. You should've been jealous. But he just looked so radiantly, gosh dang ecstatic...you couldn't help but be happy for him.

You weren't neglected, however. Age eleven, you became a man!

And your war maneuver education began.

You could barely pick up a sword. You couldn't hold a crossbow if your life depended on it. And God forbid you try to use a lance without hitting yourself in the head every time you tried to move it around.

The inferior traditionals of warcraft didn't matter to you, though. You had found the most amazing, perfect piece of weaponry ever to grace humankind.

_Firearms._

They were an experimental weapon, only just developed by inventors in your kingdom, and therefore exceedingly hard to get your hands on.

That was where the 'I might be king of Prospit someday so please, I'd like to try those.' thing came in handy. And they were beautiful.

You had two of them, twin models of these prototypes named 'pistols', handheld metal devices that were used in combat by loading a pellet of metal into a long tube called a barrel- which was stupid, it looked nothing like a barrel-, cocking it by flipping a switch with your thumb and building tension in the weapon, then poising your index finger over the attached trigger and pulling. It sent the bullet flying forward at deadly speeds, and you flying backwards at an equally lethal rate. (They could've mentioned the bloody recoil.)

But they were the most beautiful things you had ever seen, sweet virgin mother of Christ the lord.

Jade, too, had taken a liking to firearms, although she preferred an elongated version of a pistol that took two hands to operate called a 'rifle', which was the first model of guns, and wow, was she really fantastic with it.

Jane wasn't exactly defenseless either. She was a master at wielding pitchforks. A...strange weapon, but she could kick any enemy ass within a twenty foot radius with it, so none of you made mention of it.

Your page training wasn't exactly easy on the body or mind or for the faint of heart. While usually a rank that young boys passed through on their paths to becoming full fledged knights, there was a specially crafted training course developed for the art of being a page, it emerging into a class of it's own. And it was tradition ever since for the king's right-hand man to be his royal page. (And that spot, peasants, was reserved.)

Or...or you think it's reserved? Maybe it'd be nice to talk to John. Y'know for more then five bloody minutes in two days.

==> Give a nostlogiatic sigh.

Again, you know he can't help it. He's busy as hell these days, along with your other friends and the trolls.

Still, growing up was hard, and no one understood. And with Jade- in her training for developing her remarkable abilities as a witch, a kingdom healer, as well as her astronomy studies- and John both far more important and booked then lowly not-the-heir-of-Prospit you, and Jane scarcely visiting with the responsibilities of being the heiress of her family's company, you often found yourself alone and thirsting for companionship. That's the one thing you craved so desperately, a stable friend who would always be capable of making time for you and making you smile. Was it really too much to ask?

You walk back up to your bedroom chamber and fall face forward to bury your face in the satin yellow duvet, wondering why you even tried asking in the first place.

==> Be the Meeting Bound Heir.

With Jake deep in wistful melancholy, we now switch over to see just what it is that funny boy who will grow up to be leader of the land of gold is doing. It's probably much more interesting then rolling around on his mattress moping.

You are now John Egbert, sixteen year old king-to-be.

And you really, really aren't liking the responsibilities that tax it.

Lately, you barely have time to hurriedly stuff your face full of food, let alone spend much-needed time with your friends and family and it's definitely starting to take it's toll on you. Now that you're older, your schedule has been slipping from your grasp of control, your days now pre-arranged by older authorities. As soon as you woke up, you had papers to sign by the stacks shoved in your face. And after you recovered from the paper cuts was battle training, which was more often then not tedious and grueling, only made bearable by your brilliantly honey-haired stallion, Casey. (Good horse, best friend.)

You feel awful, having sparse time to enjoy yourself at all through your shackles. You can't even remember the last time you and Jake hugged, and it killed you inside to watch the previously inseparable pair of you drift slowly apart like lily petals on water before your ultramarine eyes. One day, you swore, one day when you were old enough to take your schedule into your own hands and have the chains encircling you unlocked and cast aside to breathe, everything would go back to the way it used to be. Just not yet.

And so today included yet another forced decline to Jake, sinking your heart low in your chest until it felt like it grazed the top of your stomach, no matter how well you masked it. As a result here you were, striding down the cold wing of the castle to the council room, closing your mind to the ringing echo of your lone footsteps bouncing back. This was the only sound until the dim buzz of debate began to seep into your ears, gradually growing louder with every step.

You sigh. Typical.

You press your finger tips against the cool surface of the door and give a hearty shove. And as usual, you already walked in on all hell breaking loose.

This was the council room. And this was the council.

It was a grand, lengthy chamber with a continuous rectangular table running down it, illuminated by the warm, flickering glow radiating off the torches speckled along the walls, showing the stone bricks they were perched upon, the Prospitian banners handing symmetrically in between as well as the angry faces of the people there.

The Royal High Council of the Kingdom of Prospit consisted of the wisest Guardians in all the land, six trusted, hand-picked beings- each a thousand years of age or older- that met in the castle once a month to discuss matters throughout the land, a government of sorts, and you, being who you are, are required to attend each one. Of course with the topic of debate lately, you've been stuck here increasingly more often. And you couldn't even speak of the matters spoken of here outside the room- everything was treated with in the highest of confidentialities.

And there they sat, bickering unsurprisingly viciously as they had the past few weeks, each in their own chair, some sitting, some rising and slamming their fists on the table. You flinch and take your place at the foot of it in an ornately carved wooden chair tipped with gold, gripping onto the arm rests and wishing to be anywhere but here.

You could spot the Summoner at one end, although he really was hard to miss. He was curling his hands into fists, hissing lowly at the Subjugglator who was situated across from him. His words were sharp, quick and hushed so that you couldn't make out what he was saying, but it was obviously angering to the Grand Highblood, who smashed his fist into the wall behind him in rage and roared at the winged brownblood.

Sitting next to the Summoner was Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, his (strained) other half, yelling at the irritated Dolorosa diagonal from her. It was bad before Redglare joined in, screaming about blood soaked justice and how it had to be enforced. The Dolorosa rose and growled- growled. God knows something was wrong when the kind, motherly, jadeblood _growled_ \- at the two about how they were wrong and foolish for thinking that their plan would prevail. The Signless, who was staying remarkably calm, slowly spoke of how the should consider peace and how their proposition would disrupt such a fragile thing.

You raise a hand to your aching temple. They didn't even notice you. "Guys?" Your only reponse was insults from the Subjugglator to the Summoner, displaying his colorful, vicisous vocabulary. "Guys. Seriously." Now Mindfang was getting mad. "Guys!" Bicker bicker bicker bick-

"Silence."

The requested sudden, utter absence of sound falls.

You all close your mouths at the great prescence gradually, gracefully appearing in the room.

The White Queen. Leader of the Kingdom.

She walks in with upmost caution and grace, step after delicate, carefully placed step, leaving not a sound to echo. She slowly turns her head, black gaze scanning over the lot of you, each growing motionless beneath it. She had such an aura of awe surrounding her. Her flowing pristine robes trail behind her in a train, the shawl-life fabric bunched in the crook of her elbows. Her face, save for her eyes, was concealed by a white headscarf. Her voice was soft and strong. You were all shocked- it was a rare site for the Queen herself to attend meetings.

You didn't realize you were kneeling until your bowed head had your nose touching your kneecap. Of course, everyone else was, too.

"John."

Trembling, you rise, lifting your head to meet her ebony irises. They softened and twinkled upon making contact with yours. She always had a soft spot for you. "Hello, my heir," gently spoke your predecessor.

"Good day, your majesty," you reply hurriedly.

She pauses to take a panorama gaze around the still kneeling members of the council. "What is going on here?"

"Debate, your majesty. Same old topic as it has been."

The porcelain skin of her forehead wrinkles in a presumed gentle frown. "Debate of what?"

Nobody dared speak a word. Nobody breathed. Their eyes slowly drifted to you, eyes burning into your skin. So you had to tell her. You suckle at your bottom lip nervously. How were you supposed to bring this up? Especially when it was a topic you so burningly despised. But you weren't one to keep the White Queen herself waiting. You swallow hard.

"War, your majesty."

An eerie chill falls thickly over the space, sending icy drops shooting down your spine, hairs on the back of your neck standing erect. You cringe as her unexpressioned silence drags on.

"...Your honor. If I may speak." The voice of Neophyte Redglare rings out in the room, all of you stunned by her boldness as she slowly stands and faces the Queen. She waits for the slight nod of permission from the Queen before sucking a breath and continuing. "It's...it's Derse, your honor. Their patrol parties have been lately drawing closer and closer to Prospit borders, and we are unsure if their intentions are hostile or not. But the last time they tested their luck and toed the line, we didn't make any action of it...resulting in one of the darkest massacres in our history." You look down, remembering that horror-filled day and the blood-curdling screams that lace the haunting memory. That was the day that Jake's grandma was killed. "We still grieve the loss of the villagers and Elder Witch English. The attack was unprovoked, and there's no telling what they may do this time if opportunity strikes. We have to defend ourselves and show them that Prospit is strong and not open to being trampled upon like ants underfoot. Justice has to be brought to light! We are not weak and up for taking! We are Prospit, mightiest kingdom the land of Skaia has ever known! and to this, your honor, I propose war!"

War.

War.

War.

_War..._

She stands, fist in the air, as the last word rings through the chamber, bouncing back and and echoing, war, war.

Everything is still. Uncomfortably still, like tons upon lead tons of pressure weighing you all down into your seats.

And then Mindfang rises.

"She's right," the spiderlike guardian adds. "Derse has been nothing but a thorn in our side for as long as time, and it's only getting worse. Are we just supposed to...to take this?"

Meaty paws clap the table and the wooden feet of a chair grind hideously against rock floors as the Subjugglator hoists his massive self upwards to join them. "We are not weak. Make Derse pay for all it's wrongdoings against us, make the scum regret touching us! War!" he continues loudly, his voice a monstorous rasped growl bellowing from his lungs, as always.

And yet, the Queen does not speak.

You dig your nails into your palms, marking the soft flesh with small, curved marks. Oh god, anything but this...

Your eyes, catching movement, flicker over to wings slowly extending, drawing back, extending, flapping. "Your highness," comes the voice of the Summoner, strained with both the timidness not to speak as well as the jagged effect of resisting strangling someone. Probably the Subjugglator, if you had to lay your cards on the table. "I advice against it, if I may." He draws in a deep breath and goes on. "War is never the answer, you should know that as well as I. It is only going to result in loss and sorrow." He gulped. "Derse has yet given us no trouble with this, and I don't want the blood of my brothers staining skin. We're not prepared for a war. Abstaining from it doesn't make us weak, your highness. If anything it proves we are strong. And while I understand Derse has done wrong to us before, and this is by no means forgiveness, I just think less good of this will come then bad." There was an empty beat. All eyes were on the spiked haired Taurus, who touches his chin to his chest and sits. Mindfang glared daggers at him, while he refused to make eyecontact. That was going to be rough to their relationship.

The Signless and Dolorosa were whispering to one another. The Dolorosa pulls back and gives him a tender look, gently nudging a lock of his choppy raven hair behind his ear and nodding. He returns it, looks over them. "Fellow Council members of the Kingdom of Light." He shifts. "I am of the same opinion of my brother the Summoner. We should uphold peace as long as it's in our power."

Mindfang rolls her eyes, tapping her lethally sharpened nails against the tabletop, lolling her head back and letting out and exasperated groan. "Here we go..."

"Peace," the preacher goes on with, "is a precious thing. Uprisings will ensue if this war is put into motion. Revolts, attacks, Prospit tears dripping onto the soils of Prospit graves. Our sister kingdom has yet to make a belligerent move upon us. Instead of thirsting to spill blood, we must negotiate with them, or at least try. They are our enemies but they are not savages. Maybe we can even try tot talk this all out, and bury this deadly hatchet of a fued so that we don't have to deal with this again. There are other ways to resolve this! War isn't necessary!"

"Look, Jesus," snaps Mindfang. "We can't just wait around for them to attack. We're rolling over and showing them our stomachs! If we sit around and talk about the magic of your imaginary utopia, they'll take us over like they've always wanted!"

"If we wrongly attack, our world will be chaos!" argues Dolorosa.

"Do you know how piteously weak that sounds? No wonder they think we're cowards!" barks the Grand Highblood.

"It's not worth loosing our citizens, you blind _idiot_!" yells the Summoner.

"Do you have no faith in our battle forces?" screeches Redglare.

Your head throbs, whimpers rising in your throat, hands clamping over your ears.

Why-

"Stop being foolish!"

-won't-

"Everything doesn't have to be a raging battlefield either!"

-they-

"Shut it, lowblood!"

-just-

"Lowblood?!"

"SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!"

Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, a droplet of sweat leaking down your cheekbones in tortorously slow motion as the room and the world stopped and stared at you and

shit

you

said that.

You didn't mean to, you swear! Turning a furious scarlet, you instantly slam down into your chair, studying the table for fear of looking up. You were going to be the kind but you weren't yet and that was completely out of place of you oh god _and the Queen was behind you with her hand on your shoulder you were so_ _so_ _dead_.

Her gentle, calm voice interrupts your desperate pleas to God if there was one for a quick and painless death. "It appears we have reached a tie. I personally can see from either sides. A war would be horrible and bloody, but may also be necessary." She gives a light squeeze to your tense shoulder. "You, my young heir, must become accustomed to making decisions such as this. And now that you are at the coming age of sixteen...I will let you make this decision."

==> John: Whatever you do, don't mentally flip the fuck out.

Okay.

==> Really?

No of course not you fucking moron OF COURSE YOU'RE MENTALLY FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT THE QUEEN OF PROSPIT JUST TOLD YOU TO DECIDE WHETHER OR NOT TO WAGE WAR ON YOUR STRONG ENEMY KINGDOM WHAT ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE DOING MEDITATING AND SIPPING CHINESE GREEN TEA.

==> Deep breaths.

Okay.

Right.

Even if your deep breaths are coming out more like heaves after you just sprinted a mile, but it was cool, you were cool, you were going to be cool about this.

You just had to think.

And choose wisely- the kingdom's fate balanced square on your shoulders.

You pretty much agreed with the Queen's statements. Both sides you could understand. You'd absolutely hate to be driven to battle and the death that came along with it, but you couldn't just laze around and wait for Derse to attack first with your shields down.

You tried to hypothesize the outcomes. If you said no war, then there wouldn't be a war. No fighting. No death. No scramble for supplies. No guilt for the loss forever burdening you like a lead ball chained and tethered to your ankle.

But...even if YOU said no war, Derse might have other plans. So if you said pro-war, sure, they would be loss, but you would- if given proper preparation time- show the Dark Kingdom just who they could and couldn't provoke and the dire consequences tagging along with it. You would show them you were strong and prepared for whatever they thing they could do to you.

But was the cost worth it?

The sand grains in the hour glass were falling in suspended motion, each speck hitting the pile with a monstrous thud that rung through the chamber, leaving you wondering how no one else could hear it. Your heart thumps against your ribs, threating to burst. Your palms itch. The hairs on the nape of your neck stand up. Your mind is a whirling, painful hurricane. And after an eternity-long half a minute, you have made up your mind.

You open your mouth and speak your answer.

==> Seems like John really isn't in much of a fit state to talk right now.

Poor boy is anxious like there has never been anxiety before. Perhaps we should give the young heir a break and check in on our beloved mopey, lonely green eyed gunslinger?

Luckily, he has since stopped being so overly mopey since we decided to jump to John. He's been drowning his mind in gun polish, which, all things considered, isn't really a bad thing. When no social life surfaces, a boy will always have his pistols, above anything else.

==> Be the solitary page-in-training

Friends. Who needs 'em? (Okay, that was total bullshit. Of course you needed them. You just tried not to think about that.) You had your pistols and you were fine!

After all, Sir Alabama Smith, the rugged, dashing archeologist adventurer star character of the play Thieves of the Misplaced Box, who is like your IDOL, only needed his trusty bullwhip and he was fine! He'd be sweeping a new girl off her feet every new installment of the saga, never having to stay with one solid companion ever! Like he had time for that.

...Right. And you soooo did not have time for friends.

Or social interaction. Because you were stuck inbetween being really important so that you couldn't hang out with commoners but not important ENOUGH to be given big time attention.

Still nonetheless they would just occupy your precious, precious, 16 hours a day freetime.

==> You sound pathetic.

You know you sound pathetic you just try pushing that to the back of your mind.

Somewhere dimly below you you hear John talking to Jade in a strained, fast tone beneath you, like they're discussing matters. Of course they are, when aren't they. When are they discussing matters that might possibly godforesaken involve you? Do people forget you could very well be king someday as well?

You let loose a long, heaving sigh and flop over on your huge, marigold satin-sheeted four-poster canopy bed on your side, placing your guns on your bedside table and tucking your knees to your chest in a tight fetal position.

You drew in a large breath and let it out again, reaching up to loosen the popped collar of your bright yellow tunic top, richly embellished with little pearls lining the jacket fold and the moon emblem embroidered onto the front with golden threads, undoing the top few buttons and closing your eyes, reminding yourself to change into your sleep garments and not just stay in your Prospit royal dress all day. These were your day clothes, of which you and all the nobles had similar variations of. It was your most-worn outfit, other then your slumber robes. Other then that you also had your training outfit- a loose yellow, thin, cotton tunic top with chain mail under it for optimal safety, and your formal outfit, your page dress. You weren't a fully certified page yet (although you were getting pretty damn close) and therefore could only wear the outfit on very selective, important occasions, but you loved it. It was so darn comfortable! It was a short sleeved tight-fitting, breathable shirt with a orange sash around your waist that you had converted into a utility belt of a sorts, making loops in it to holster your guns and other things in. It came with a mid-back length matching sunshine cape that bunched around your neck and mid-thigh length trunks, which you were assured were made that way for prime movement range, which was true. And once you became a page you would get a golden edged intricate wing pin to place upon your chest, right above the pale crescent, righthand man of the White Queen or King Jonathan Egbert...

…And maybe you'd settle down with a nice girl too...

...Or even a nice guy...

...Or even just a nice dog or something, any companionship would do you good, and Jade had Bec- the huge white canine she had adopted as a child- and that seemed to be working just dandy for her.

You really are getting quite tired. Maybe some good old shut eye would do you good.

Pining for nothing but wishful thinking was getting tiresome.

==> Sleep, sweet page. You'll need it.

 

* * *

_[Oh, do you remember when?](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tb-u7MbUpbA) _


	3. ==> Angel: Descend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have found your silver lining. And it's perfect.

==> Jade: Have a charming chat with brother dear.

"You did WHAT? John, I can't believe you!"

"Well what was I supposed to do?"

"Say no!"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, alright? And I mean...I guess it kind of still does..."

"No, John! This is a bad thing! A very bad thing!"

"Calm down Jade! It's not like this is an overnight thing! We're taking at least five months or more to prepare. Our militia is pretty kickass right now, and with a little extra training-"

"JOHN! YOU FUCKING MORON! YOU JUST INITIATED WAR BETWEEN PROSPIT AND DERSE BECAUSE YOU THINK WE'RE 'PRETTY KICKASS'!"

You loved your twin to itty bitty pieces, but he could be kind of a half-wit sometimes. And voting yes on attacking Derse? That was the most idiotic thing you've ever heard! Derse was a kingdom full of merciless warriors who manipulated the night to their advantage like Russians in the winter, and he has the audacity to give the thumbs up to a war?!

You didn't realize how hard you were jarring him as you snatched his lapels and shook furiously as if trying to bang some sense into your brother, who only responds with whimpers and gags. "Ugh...Jade...can't...breathe! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

With an angered huff, you release John, leaving him to stumble back, hands flailing and palms up in a defensive stance and you to breathe heavily through clenched teeth in an attempt to calm yourself. After a few moments, you blink and rub your eyes, cradling your forehead in your hand. "Yeah, I'm sorry too."

John shifts, twidling his thumbs. "Guess I kinda deserve it. It's just- I'm sixteen, y'know? That was a big decision that I really wasn't ready for so I compulsively went with the choice that seemed to have the most solid arguments." He pauses, and you have to sigh softly as your utter concentration of rage ebbs into a dull throbbing of irritation and disappointment. He had a good point- being who he was, he did have alot of things forced onto him well beyond his years. It was no excuse, but a relatable explanation. "It'll be okay Jade, I promise. Just...can you do me a favor?"

"Maybe."

"Don't tell anyone about this. We're not ready to make this public yet, okay? And besides, we don't want any information leaking, because God knows what would happen if the 411 fell upon the wrong ears."

You frown at him. "Anyone?" you echo. "Like...anyone at all? Not even Jane or Jake? We never keep anything from them!"

John is silent for a lengthy strain of a minute, jaw clenching and hands curling in small body language gestures of thought and discomfort, ultramarine eyes flicking across the ground. "Not yet."

"Any time soon?"

"...We'll see."

* * *

==> Bid a temporary farewell to the fair maiden.

You are now Jake English, assisting Miss Crocker to the docked boat where she'll be leaving for a few months on a previously mentioned visit to her woefully ill grandfather. And boy, are you going to miss her.

It was nice chatting to her again as you escorted her down to the pier, arms linked, your spirits breaching the peak of the highest they had been in weeks. You had forgotten how funny she could be and how her cyan eyes would gently close and her head would tip back as she melodiously laughed, the dark curls framing her face brushing her eyelids. In fact, you had forgotten what your own laugh sounded like, and this was such a wonderful reminder.

But alas, in a cruel twist of irony, the only time you had to converse with the beautiful young woman was in leading her to a voyage which would leave her absent for another period of time.

Your puppycrush on her, which had been in development from a small age, had grown stronger and stronger until lately when you had become more isolated from her and your cousins and didn't have the time to spend with her to rekindle your feelings. And yet, talks like this, the little talks- you couldn't help but feel a spark once more. You had been told in times past that one day the two of you were destined to be wed. The royal Page of Prospit and the wealthy, powerful heiress of a noble family would politically and economically be the perfect match. Would you mind that? No, you would not. Besides, it was a good way to keep noble blood flowing strong. Not that you had a choice on that.

Royals were strictly forbidden from personal interaction with the lower class. In truth, you had never talked with a real, actual peasant in your life. You knew it was far too dangerous, and how peasants could carry diseases that would weaken you, and you were far too precious for that. At least, that's what you were always told.

And so it was keep among others of your superior class for you. You didn't mind in the slightest- they were the most wonderful people in the world, anyway. Even if your interaction was nowadays limited.

As you and Jane approach the dock, you catch a glimpse of Calliope, Jane's Lady-in-Waiting, scrambling around furiously trying to cram in preparations for the voyage. You break into a wide smile at the sight of the cherub (another subspecies) hustling around the ship, trying to make sure everything was set and ready, her short white hair a mess of curls as she nervously ran one hand through it, mumbling to herself and reading off the checklist clutched in her other hand. It had been a while since you had seen her. "Hello, miss Calliope!" you call out cheerfully, waving, the cherub snapping up her head at the greeting before beaming herself and wiggling a few fingers in a delighted-to-see-you gesture.

Jane gives a small nod, scaling up the ship, before turning to you and sighing. "Well. I...I guess this is goodbye, then."

The flame of your bright mood is suddenly extinguished, and a familiar frown pulls the corners of your lips downwards once more. "I do suppose. Tell your grandpop I say hello and send well wishes towards him, if you would. And may I add here that it was absolutely lovely being granted the opportunity to talk with you again, my lady."

She brings her fingertips to her mouth in a small giggle, oh Gods that was adorable. "The pleasure was all mine, Jake! I'll be sure to do that. Send me a letter whenever you'd like, okay? And keep close tabs on John! Wouldn't want that boy putting inflated sheep stomach cushions on the Nitram and Vantas' chairs again, would we?"

You decide now is a really good time to not bring up that you had assisted in that endeavor. You simply reply with a gentle smile and stiffen your arm, pressing your index and middle finger together on your forehead and moving them forward in a two-fingered salute. "Yes ma'am!"

You take her hand and help her onto the deck of the bobbing seacraft, the golden flags rippling in the breeze. There is a moment of quiet before you dip to one knee, brushing your lips against her knuckles, straightening back up to see her eyes wide and cheeks a flustered scarlet. It was oddly adorable. "I will be absolutely sure to keep in touch! Have a splendid voyage. I trust Calliope to keep you safe. Adieu, my lady!"

"Y-yes, of course! Goodbye, Jake!"

==>

Minutes later, you are watching the speck of the vessel in the distant become swallowed wholly by the horizon line with a deep sigh. You're back to square one. Alone again.

You squint up at the heavens above you. The sun, weary from illuminating the day, lowers itself, taking with it the cotton periwinkle of the sky to replace it effortless with blends of saffron and cozy fuchsias, lavishing the linings of the remaining wisps of clouds suspended above the honey-licked waves of ocean with deep golds as dusk resumes it's reign on the world once more.

It was best you be headed back to the castle.

You turn and step forward, the gravel of the beach giving a crackle in return, back up the path through the forest to the back entrance of your home. The water was lapping hungrily at the land by your feet. The tide was filing in, anyway.

Back to the palace.

* * *

==> Don't actually end up back in the palace.

Anyone who thought you could just walk through the forest alone without getting distracted was wrong.

Gods had it been forever and a year since you were here by yourself.

Your childhood sanctuary of dreams and adventure. Ah, the sweet, sweet nostalgia.

You are delighted to find the secret trail you had created- uncovered by pushing back two fern saplings, which had since matured into large, adult plants- and following the path revealed. For old times sake, you follow it, soaking in the memories that sprung to mind with every twist and turn you take, the damp, cool air kissing your skin in reunion. The day's last weak beams of light filtered through the dense canopies of interwoven leaves above you, dappling the earth in brilliant reds and oncoming muted navy blue of the night. Your eyes are wide with wonder, drinking in the untouchable beauty of the scene around you, walking forward with your eyes glued upwards, twirling as you step faster and faster and-

"Oof!"

"Ow!"

And suddenly you're falling on unexpected collision, skidding backwards on your rump until you're lying back first on uncomfortably moist dirt, momentarily breathless and helpless to get up.

What the bloody hell? Who the fuck else was here?!

You sit up groggily, groaning with soreness as you rub your forehead. You blink your eyes open again, although your vision had gone hazy from the impact. A crouching smudge of yellow is what you can make out, and- oh. You realize that your glasses got knocked off. You grope around for the spectacles with your left hand while trying to focus your eyes more. Who was that person? Obviously they were a Prospit, which was a relief. Chances are it was Jade, coming out- just like old times- to drag your diddydallying ass out of the woods and back into the castle.

"...Your highness?"

Well, that sure wasn't Jade.

Your searching fingers snatch up the frames of your glasses and you're slipping them back onto your nose in an instant.

You blink rapidly at the kneeling, unfamiliar figure. Okay. Who's this douchebag.

A pale teen who couldn't have been months off from your own age was before you, decked in a blandly plain and simple dirty tunic with a tiny crescent moon on the breastpocket the same shade as yours and murky goldenrod trousers. He sported a canary colored cloak of some sort, which fell over his shoulder and spilled down his back with the hood of it thrown loosely on. On his hands were snug black gloves quizzically missing the fingers, and covering his feet were dark, mid-shin length boots.

But the most striking thing about the guy was hands down his face.

Over his eyes were the absolute weirdest glasses you had ever seen. They were large and shaped like tilted triangles, and appeared, from your half, opaque. You couldn't see through them at all, completely concealing his eyes. Just under them you could see a very light dusting of a couple freckles speckling his cheekbones. Yet one of the most curious features of this intriguingly odd boy was the hair that stuck out from beneath his hood.

It...it wasn't black. It was much, much lighter, the closest color you could use to describe it was yellow, even though that wasn't quite right, either. You had never seen such odd pigmentation in your life. Was that natural?

You try to switch your attention from pondering the coloration of his messy locks to his words. "Your highness"? He knew who you were? ...You are unbelievably flattered! No one ever called YOU that, only John and Jade. Puffing out your chest in swelling pride, you make up your mind that you like this guy already.

"That's me!" you reply, beaming. "I'm flattered you have a pre-established knowledge of my identity!"

Judging by his facial expression, you imagine his eyes are lighting up behind his strange eyewear at your words. "Yeah, of course I know you, everyone in the Prospitian village reveres the royals. Wow, it's- this is an enormous honor to meet you. Absolutely huge, your highness."

Oh Gods. You have a fan. You are about to burst in an explosion of joy and sunshine. Someone thinks it's an honor to talk to you. An honor! YOU, Jake English, not John! Someone...someone thinks you're special! You instantly grab his hand and shake it wildly up and down, grinning so hard your cheeks start to hurt. "Oh, no, no no no, the pleasure is utterly, totally mine, oh, bless your soul! And who would you be, kindhearted godsend?"

He looks just a tad confused by your exuberant ecstaticness over him just saying that it was nice to talk to you, of which you understand, but don't really care and make no effort to try to dim your soaring happiness, before shaking it off and returning with a kind, subtle smile of his own. "I'm from the village. I was just on my way to pick a couple berries, and had no idea this encounter would take place. I feel kinda embarrassed- I would've cleaned up if I knew I was going to be in the presence of royalty, haha. I work the fields, your majesty, so I plead you forgive my unkempt, dirty state."

"Oh, call me Jake!" You were ready at a moment's notice to instantly latch onto first name-basis with anyone who said they were literally embarrassed by their state in front of you. Was everyone in the village like this? Wowza, have you been missing out your whole life! "Ehm. This could be entirely my blunder, but I don't believe I caught your name...?"

"Oh. Sorry. I'm Dirk." Instantly he tenses and looks away, scowling and hissing under his breath, "Shit."

You frown. "What's the matter?" Dirk? That was, like, the coolest name you had ever heard!

He glances back at you, shifting. "No. Uh. Nothing. ...It's just, I have kind of a weird name and I didn't want you to think that. And weird glasses. And. I'm just not normal, sorry." He sounded so painstakingly awkward and nervous, poor guy. Didn't he know how much you liked him already?

You snort. "My last name is English, you want to talk about weird names with me? No, Dirk is totally neat! It sounds like an uber cool name for a blade or something!"

"...It, uh. It is."

"Right! Yes of course. ...And your glasses are a hell of alot more captivating to behold then my simplistic necessities pair of lenses," you chatter on in a chipper tone, pulling your ankels in to sit crisscross applesauce to face him, letting your chin rest in your hands, elbows propped on your knees.

His smile deepens. Just a little. "You think so? Thanks, your high- Jake, sorry. Wow. I was really nervous because I was expecting you to be all regal and stiff and shit but...you're actually really cool and laidback and conversational which exceeds my expectations. Like the kind of guy you'd want to be best friends with, not just a noble of Prospit. Most other royals aren't like that."

Holy hot cross buns of Jesus Christ's bakery, he likes you. This is more positive attention then you've been deprived of for months, all at once, and you just kind of want to start sobbing tears of joy into his perfect, perfect shoulder. ...Of course, you'll restrain. You met him fleeting minutes ago and telling him that he's currently the most perfect being you had ever had the blessing if conversing with would probably scare him off. You can't help it, though. You're so relieved that someone outside of your imagination is sitting down to chat with you without having higher priorities to tend to first.

This could definitely be the start of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

==>

The two of you talk for who knows how long and who the fuck cares.

You and Dirk trade stories and details for probably hours, making you laugh, nearly cry, and marvel, depending on what was told. He tells you that he comes from a small family with his parents almost never around, leaving him to take care of his younger brother. It's not all bad, he insists, informing you that there's another family with two daughters- one his age, the other his brother's age- that they've known since childhood, and how they're practically siblings. You're pleased to hear that, given how well you can relate, in turn telling him of how you're an orphan child and your grandma died when you were young. You tell him that you have cousins a little younger than you who you treat like your brother and sister and have always been heavily reliant on them, as well as a girl from a high class family, because they're all you have.

He says he understands.

You also tell him the reasoning for your mini-seizure of excitement earlier was because no one lately had been talking to you for you and you alone. Perhaps for who you were, but not just to talk to good ol' Jake. He says he knows exactly what that feels like, too. And the longer you talk, the more you ponder if God had heard your prayers and sent you this angel in the form of a lean, attractive boy your age to fulfill every aspect you wished for and more.

And all too soon, you're squinting from the iridescently bright ribbons of moonlight curling down from above as the sky goes from navy blue to pure, unaltered raven feather black. Fiddlesticks, had it truly been this long? Where had the time gone?

In an instant you have leapt to your feet, rapidly dusting yourself off. Even if you were currently the white wax stick of Prospit Castle, someone was bound to notice your absence sooner or later. Dirk takes a quick look up and, alarmed, mirrors your motions. Drat.

You madly attempt to wipe the dirt from your sleeve while babbling on, because lord knows what interrogations were ahead of you if you sauntered back in, well past your curfew, glasses askew and sheeted in earth. "Merlin's beard, I had no idea night had fallen upon us too quickly- I wasn't paying half a mind of attention to it! But this was a rooting tooting whale of a time, you can bet your ass on that one! If you'll excuse me, I must be returning to my chamber. Wouldn't want to arouse suspicion."

"Much as I hate to say it, I gotta get going too," adds Dirk, shaking his cloak, sending clumps of dirt attached flying. "My family might actually be harsher then yours if they find out I've been away talking this entire time." He sounds sincere but you doubt how much trouble he, in his position, could get in compared to yours. "But you're right on that one. It was really splendifferific getting to know you, man. No regrets."

You both pause grooming yourselves for a moment to look up, locking eyes. (Assumedly locking eyes.)

"...Jake, maybe, if you want to-" He starts.

"And you know, if you feel so inclined-" You begin at the same time.

"We can do this again tomorrow?"

You finish in perfect harmony, leaving you smiling like an idiot and not giving a crap about it. You nodded so rapidly you're head very well could've snapped off. "Yes! Yes, please, that'd be quite the favorable plan! So, meet here at sundown, again?" He gives a slight tilt of his head in agreement. "Perfect! I'll be looking forward to our next rendezvous!"

"Yeah. Same here." He gives a small, airy chuckle (That was the first time you heard him laugh. It was a beautiful noise- suiting to the servant of the big guy upstairs you perceived him to be.) and turns. He suddenly wheels back around. "Wait! One more thing."

"Sure, what?"

He takes in a deep breath. "I'm a peasant, Jake. Lowly villager farmer boy. On the other hand, you're a powerful royal of the Kingdom of Light. We're...actually not supposed to be interacting. There's laws against it." You furrow your brow, smile dropping, crestfallen. He was right. You were too busy enjoying his company as a person, that you forgot to take his position into account. He was probably about to call off the meeting and you would never see him again. ...Well, it was the best night you've had for good length of time while it lasted. "...So, if you want to go through with this, you can't tell anyone about this. Okay?"

Your heart starts to pound in your chest, a new dynamic of thrill now tacked onto your relationship. Secret, forbidden meetings only allowed by the cover of nightfall? This was just like one of your plays! You open your mouth to agree, before closing it again, realizing what that meant. If you wanted to see him again, you couldn't tell a soul. And that included the three people in your life you care about the very most. "...Anyone? Not even my cousins or Jane? I never keep anything from them!"

Dirk sighs and shakes his head. "No. Not unless you want to be locked in your room at night and probably punished for mingling with someone such a lower class then you."

Well gosh, you don't want that. But how long would you have to keep this a secret from the ones you love? "But..." You swallow hard. "Depending on what happens, I mean- I can tell them eventually, right?"

He goes still and you want to shrink back for saying that. But it was true. "...We'll see." He gives a comforting upturn of his lips and bows down, dropping to one knee, placing one hand over his heart in a deep gesture of respect. "Goodnight, your majesty."

And he was gone.

* * *

==>

"Jake, dude, there you are! Where'd you go, man?" The relieved cry of John Egbert reaches you before you see him. Well, somebody had noticed you were gone.

"Oh, y'know, midnight stroll," you lie, reaching the top of the spiraling staircase leading to the hallway of yours and John's bedchambers. (Jade's and Jane's guest room were on the opposite side, up another staircase.) He is perched outside his room, eyes round with worry. You beam and walk over, giving him an affectionate clap on the shoulder. "I am quite alright, chum!"

John frowns slightly. "Great to hear, but, uh. We're not supposed to be out of our rooms past sundark. ...Since when have you taken midnight strolls...?"

You give a happy shrug, removing your hand and continuing down the long corridor to where your bedroom door was located, at the very end, looking over your shoulder as you walked to keep talking with him. "Oh, think nothing of it, I just poked out for some air, is all. So, how did you spend this wonderful day?"

He gives a short, curt, questioning laugh with a rising infliction on the end. "You're in a good mood. I mean, that's great! Good to see you smiling again..." He trails off before clearing his throat and quickly resuming. "Ugh, had meetings again today."

"Didn't you just have one yesterday?"

"Yeah. About that...sorry for having to do all this and not hanging with you. I really don't want to, I miss you. And-"

"Oh, pish posh John, I'm fine! Don't worry yourself." You arrive at your door and place your hands on it, giving one last smile to him. "Well, I can't speak for you, but I sure am ready to hit the hay! Goodnight, John!"

"Night, Ja-"

You close the door before he finishes his sentence. You flop down onto your mattress, unable to wipe the grin from your face, insides writhing with excitement.

Finally. Something in your life to look forward to.

* * *

==> Be John.

"Well, I can't speak for you, but I sure am ready to hit the hay! Goodnight, John!"

"Night, Ja-!" He slams the door and is gone.

You stand in your doorway, peering down the hall, waiting for him to pop his head out again and apologize or give you a goodnight hug or...something.

You stand there, fidgeting anxiously, for a good couple of minutes. He never did. Okay. That was okay. All good.

You turn back, slowly walked back into your room and carefully lying down on your mattress, not bothering to pull the bedding over you. It was fantastic that Jake was happy again- the jolliest you had seen the dude in days, but you couldn't help wondering why. And the one night you had the time to talk to him...

You sigh and close your eyes, curling up and slinging an arm over a dark blue pillow. You had even more meetings tomorrow, where you and the council would start to discuss planning and tactics, which you knew you wouldn't be aloud to even tell Jade.

This was going to kill you.

 

* * *

[ _He's perfect!_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avpkCh-zyjE)


	4. ==> Try Harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One lonely soul for another, you guess.

==> Exaggerate greatly to come across as highly impressive.

"...So there I am, perched upon a stone wall, not the faintest trait of an idea as to what exactly what was going to happen, snogging this thing to save it's life, while a god consarned VOLCANO erupts and starts spewing licks of flaming lava everywhere, with the dragon flying over me and encircling the exploding mountain, AND Jane, John, and Jade were there, watching me do the entire thing. I was mortified!"

"Wow. That's pretty awe-inspiring, if not a little melodramatic. Did it work?"

"I'd sure hope so. Otherwise I would have taken a borderline black out inducing old banging to my noggin so hard my eyes rattled in their sockets like the maracas of Mexico in vain!"

"And you have confirmation that this actually took place and...isn't a byproduct of said near-concussion?"

==> Concoct and bring forth evidence, pronto!

"...So, Dirk, your turn!"

"Haha. Yes, your highness."

It had been a good couple days since the first meeting of the two of you, and every night was amazing- you and Dirk had done all from sitting and talking, like you were now in swapping the most adventurous and neatest tales you had each experienced, to exploring different territories in the woods, to- your personal favorite- play wrestling. There was nothing that made you come alive like a friendly pound-the-snot-out-of-each-other round of fisticuffs, you discovered. (Although those bruises were caused by you walking into a tree, would say anyone back at the castle from what you had told them. Of course, since you weren't really allowed in the forest, you had to get creative and tell them that you walked into a tree- in the middle of the grassy meadow- with such force that it shrank back into the ground and that's why it wasn't there anymore.)

You had since been walking with a skip in your step and a smile in your eyes, so buzzing and drunken with happiness that you actually gave Bard Makara, upon catching your eye in a corridor, a hug and dreamily told him he was beautiful. He responded right back that you were beautiful as well and the world was beautiful and hugged you in return, cackling and honking in a tone that could've been perceived as murderous by unhappy souls, but you were just delighted he was joyous, as well! You had made not one, but TWO new friends.

Ah, could life get any better?

You and the blonde (that was what his hair was, he had said, whatever that meant.) were up in a tree- which you were pleased to find out he could climb as well as you, if not swifter-, each of you lounging on a long branch sturdy enough to support your weight. You were splayed, lying down backfirst, on a branch nearer to the top- hands plopped on your chest with the fingers loosely intertwined over your heart, the drooping dusters of emerald needle covered tendrils blanketing and framing you as you shut your eyes to let the filtering of the dying sun warm your face.

Dirk was sitting in the crook of a branch a few feet beneath you, one leg tucked to his chest and the other extended on the wood, arms folded and tipping back his head to chat with you, occasionally playfully batting at your dangling foot. If you tilted your head and cracked open an eye to a slit down at him, sometimes you could catch him smiling. Dirk Strider, smiling. Just a little.

And it was absolutely beautiful.

Your schedules were becoming a little more flexible, most of the time still meeting under the secure cover of night but occasionally- like now- at the last kiss of dawn, when the sun gives it's last rays of light before ducking down out of sight to recharge. You, however, quite liked the way the sunshine dappled Dirk and made his hair glow. You told him that he should probably be spending more of his time out in it anyway- the boy was really on the paler side of the skin tone.

Life was good, whole, again. Your training was going well. Your family's training was going well. And you had the most perfect companion anyone can ask for, melting your stress away under silver ribbons of secret meetings of the enticingly, heart-poundingly forbidden friendship that could never be.

And the best part? Nobody suspected a thing.

* * *

==> Heir of Prospit: Produce tactics.

You are now John Egbert and stressed miles beyond what is considered healthy.

You sigh, pushing your sleeves up and miserably staring down at the yellowed parchment of the map slapped on the table before you, tiredness blurring your gaze, the words that you had been staring at for hours now a smudgy muddle of ink. You really didn't want to be here, but what could you do? Duty as the Heir called, and you were forced to obey. Even on the common consensus of pro-war, the other councilmen just wouldn't shut the fuck up and had to bicker needlessly even over the stupidest things like what the battle cadence was going to be and if Mindfang or Redglare got to be second (after you) in line. Planning this was an absolute nightmare.

"As I was saying," the swashbuckling arachnid-like vixen was droning on dimly in the background, like she had been for the past half hour. "We attack at high noon. That's when Derse is at it's weakest."

"How do you know that?" spits out the Dolorosa.

Mindfang gives an exasperated roll of her eyes reserved for complete morons, like the jadeblood had just proclaimed Maid Kimberly Kardashor's rump was naturally as plump as she claimed it to be. "Derse is strongest at night! Helloooooooo, 'Kingdom of the Moon' ringing any bells up there? When the sun is at it's highest they'll all be resting. They won't suspect a thing!"

"It doesn't mean they let their guard down at daytime or are any less lethal while the sun shines," she sharply counteracts.

"Yeah! Dawn's obviously the way to go, when they're still groggy and blinded by the new day's light," cackles Redglare, leaning her back against the wall.

"Dawn!" bellows the Grand Highblood, pounding his fists on the table, the light flickering from sending the candlesticks- and your brain inside your skull- rattling. You let out a quiet whimper, rubbing slow circles into your temple with gentle pressure in a piteous attempt to relieve the painful headache you had been nursing for days, which had resided to just sitting in the front of your head and throbbing.

Mindfang pulls her lip back in a snarl. "You ALWAYS take her side, Juggy!" she cries with exasperation, snatching her dagger and shoving it down inches in front of you to dig into the wood, making you squeak and jump back. "It's not fair! You still agree with me, don't you, honey?" She gives the winged brownblood to her right a piercing, venomous glare that assured him there was only one right answer.

The Summoner's hands were palm down on the table, chin rested on top of them in exhaustion. He sighs, knocking his forehead against the wood. "I don't care. Sure. Why not."

The Signless was tucked in a corner on his knees, eyes shut, mumbling out prayers and hands clasped like he had been for an hour.

Nothing was getting done.

"Your Highness, what's your input?" You look back up to meet the eyes of the Scorpio, hip cocked and fingers drumming on it.

You take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back to try to loosen them and speak, very, very calmly. "...I think high noon would work." You pinch the bridge of your nose, twisting your face in pain. "Midday, five months from now, which'd put us somewhere around March or April. They don't do as well in heat as we do, so they'll probably be weak as well. Here." With the Council FINALLY quiet and watching you (save for the Signless but, y'know, go him, if he wants to go pray that's sweet, follow your dreams and all), you reach over and- giving a hard yank- grab Mindfang's embedded knife out of the tabletop, focusing on the map and hovering above you. You trail the tip over the depiction of Prospit Castle. "So we start here." You do a small circle over the area, before tracing a winding line down to represent the trail down the hills. "We move by dawn, so we have time. Then we keep going in formation up to the forest where the border is-" You air-slice a line over the edge of your kingdom. "-and regroup before moving on to Derse territory. That's gonna be kinda tricky if we want to avoid being seen until the time of battle, so we can take the back way around here, like so, march up to the field to the front entrance, aaaand...attack! Plain and simple." With a swift jab, you plant the dagger right atop the Derse palace and straighten up.

There is a moment of still before hushed murmors ripple through the trolls, leaving you anxiously nibbling your bottom lip.

At last, the Dolorosa, God bless her, opens her mouth. "I think that's an agreeable tactic. The finer details may be attended to later. Would you mind terribly checking in on the militia later?"

You wince and run a hand through your locks. Right. So no break today either-

"However...I think you deserve a rest for now." She grants you a kind, warm smile, eyes twinkle. Your heart leaps. You haven't been allowed a break in days- no, WEEKS! And you know just how to spend it!

You give an excited mumble of thanks and rush out the door, leaving those cats and dogs to squabble once more- but it's not your problem.

===> Have some seriously needed bro time.

"Hey, have you seen Jake?"

You tap Page Nitram's shoulder, in which his responds with a yelp and whirls around on his heel, instantly stopping and eyes closing to slits as they took in who you were in an 'Oh. It's you.' sort of fashion. He had this weird kind of grudge against you that you don't really understand, but he's not your favorite person in the world so it doesn't really bother you. However, he is a page and in training with your cousin, so if anyone knew his whereabouts, it'd be him. "...Why?"

You shrug. "I. I just have some time to kill and I thought I'd go hang with him. It's been a long time!"

"Yeah. He talks about that. With all due respect- your highness-" Sarcasm drips off his every letter. "-you're kind of an ass to him sometimes."

You cringe in guilt. "Okay, but I don't mean to-"

"I mean God, blowing him off like that? What does Vriska see in you?"

"I don't really-"

"My brother, no matter how busy or famous, ALWAYS makes time for me."

"You're...kind of avoiding my questio-"

"Tavros! Leave the ROYAL HEIR the fuck alone or give him some goddamn directions already!"

You grin as you wheel around to toss your wrist at the scowling troll leaning against the doorway, long, gleaming ebony hair tumbling down her shoulder over her poppingly yellow outfit in messy waves, feet tapping the ground in fluorescently orange boots. "Vriska! Hey!"

The kingdom's resident apprentice of Rogue Nitram breaks into a beam. "Hi John!" she chirps merrily, before instantly switching to glare at Tavros. "What the hell, pipsqueak? You were just with Jake. Fucking King to Be asked you where his cousin is and you rattle off on his ass about how everything wrong in the world and how it's fault." She scoffs in disdain, and the page hangs his head. (Heh. Serves him right.) She sighs and walks over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder, voice much softer now. "Sorry about him. Anyway, think I saw His Royal Bootyshorts downstairs. I'm assuming you finally have break time...that's great! Nice to see you again, John. Go right ahead."

Vriska Serket was a godsend. "Ah, thanks, Vriska!" You give a quick, appreciative nod and dash down the staircase.

There was Knight Pyrope in the corner, grinning and holding Knight Vantas in a headlock in the crook of her arm to rub her knuckles against his crown- making his hair stick up at even more ridiculous angles that defied all laws of gravity- in the most wicked and dangerously affectionate noogie you've ever seen. Knight Vantas was making strangled noises of protest which were actually extremely amusing. You give an inward sigh at the thought of how they wouldn't have time for this once word of war was released and the brutal training they'd be in on double overtime, and the actual battles they'd have to fight...

You shake your head to clear the thought, scanning the crowd. Rogue Nitram was illustrating his latest tall tales to Miss Serket- something about...Neverland? Oh, yeah, right- with Kurloz Makara patiently listening. Seer Pyrope was sounding exasperated in a conversation with Seer Vantas, and you hadn't the slightest where Bard Makara was which was more then likely for the best. There was Jade chatting with Sylph Maryam, charting stars on a large stellar map on the wall, and- aha!

There he was, pushing his way quickly through the crowd to the door. You grin excitedly and shove your way over, waving like a madman. Oh gosh, this was gonna be a blast! "Jake! Hey, dude! Hey man!"

He yelps and tenses as you affectionately throw yourself on his back, chin resting on his shoulder, before you make a similar noise as he steps forward, leaving you to flail frantically before getting a mouthful of gold-threaded floor rug. You spit it out in disgust, your nose dully pulsing with pain, before looking up at him. He's in a rigid pose, eyes wide, hands and feet assuming a karate stance, shaking a bit. He blinks and drops his arms, giving a squeamish smile. "Oh. Erm. Sorry, pal."

The fuck was he so paranoid about? You raise yourself to your feet, shaking yourself off and sighing. "It's cool. Soooo." Pain aside, you give him a bright smile. "You know how you wanted to hang out lately but I can't make it and it's been like months?"

Jake's eyes aren't on you. They're cast over to his right over his shoulder, trying to look at the...door? and the crack of night's navy blue beginning to file in onto the floor. "...Hm? Uh, yeah. It's alright! I understand."

You...maybe were expecting more of a reaction to this, as it was pretty obvious what you were setting up, and he wasn't even looking at you. You draw in a deep breath, forcing yourself to hold a cheerful expression. "Well- I'm off for today! I FINALLY have time to be with you, and I've missed you alot. So if you're still up for hanging, I'd really really love that!"

"Hm?" Jake tears his eyes from the oh-so-fascinating door to you. Your heart sinks- his eyes don't match your ecstaticness. Not even close. He awkwardly scratches the nape of his neck, letting out fractions of choppy, anxious laughs. "Um. That sounds like a smashing time, but...I can't."

"...What?"

"Sorry John, I've got...things to do. But I'll catch you later, okay?" ...But...

You swallow hard past the lump in your throat. "You. You do?"

He shrugs. "Yep. Love to chill but I gotta run. See you around!" He gives a genuine smile at you, before spinning around and dashing out the door. And just like that, he had vanished, swallowed by dusk.

You stand in the middle of the room, watching him go, dumbfounded and irrationally devastated. He didn't have...he didn't have time for you.

You. You just kind of.

Oh.

Okay.

With your heart sinking so low it tapped the top of your stomach, in total silence, you chew at your bottom lip and trudge slowly back up the steps, feet dragging.

You might as well go check back in on the council and make sure they hadn't murdered each other yet.

Not like you had anything else you wanted to do, anyway.

 

* * *

[ _You're still close. You're still...you're still closer than anything._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qsq7Itj5P5w)


	5. ==> Secrecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't complain about your guilt. You've walked yourself right into this.

==> Strengthen friendship via 'Assert your masculinity' route.

"Forty two, put 'em up, Strider!"

"I'd really rather not. Your face is just lovely and pristine as it is, your highness, and I'd hate to wreck that in kind of a pointless brawl."

==> Float like a butterfly

"Aww come on come on come on c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon."

"Your highness, with all due-"

"C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mooon."

 **== > **Sting

"Alright, fine. If you're really that insistent, I'll go along with this and we can do a friendly beat-the-shit-out-of-your-opponent round of fucking fisticuffs."

"Yes! Finally!"

 **== > **Like

"Haha! Crack your knuckles all you want, but be assured that is has absolutely NO EFFECT on me, at all, and doesn't flicker the indistinguishable flame of my confidence for a blink of an eye!"

"...Good to know. Okay, I'm at stance. Do you want to take the first swing or me?"

"Come now, do you REALLY have to ask at this point? As the gentlemanly, civilized breed I am, I consider it an indisputable protocol for my sparring partner to take the first hit. Hit me with your best shot!"

"My best shot?"

"The best shot you can do!"

 **== > **A

"Whatever you say, your majesty. But in my defense, you brought this upon yourself."

"Oh, yes yes, very well! Now, hush with the blabbering and get to the clabberi- OOF!"

 **== > **Well, you attempted to sting like a bee and it's the effort that counts.

"OW! FUCKING SIDE SALAD OF SATAN I WASN'T FLIPPIN' READY!"

"Oh, shit, are you bleeding?"

Your name is Jake English, and you are realizing- on your knees in the forest, shins slickened with mud, heel of your hand smearing red over the gash on your cheekbones and twenty five percent of your brain screaming "That was so cool!" and the remaining seventy five percent screeching "The hell were you thinking?"- that maybe you should compute some less painful physical activities for when you get bored and antsy with your peasantly consort.

It had been two weeks since your life got better with his arrival now, and you- as demonstrated earlier- learned his last name, as well. It confounded you why he was being so goddarned secretive about it, and he never out right told you, either. You figured it out for yourself by accident when you were meeting up with him two or three nights ago and you spotted him making his way awfully slowly through the shrubby. He seemed distracted and distant, different from his usual quick as a flash movements. You grinned and cracked out, "What's the hold up, strider?" in mockery of this comparison. In an instant Dirk froze completely, whipping his head around to face you, going total rigid. "...What. Did you just call me." He had flushed paler then normal and didn't appear to be breathing.

You had knit your eyebrows in confusion, mind whirling in an attempt to sort out how you had offended him. "Strider...?"

He was quiet, tense. Then you let out a yelp as he had suddenly stepped right in front of you, hands gripping fistfuls of your shirt, voice at a low, unwavering, terrifying whisper. "Who the hell told you? How did you find out?"

Your eyes were large with discomfort and maybe a tad pinch of fear, stomach churning. "N-no one!" you pathetically squeaked out. "What's the hullabaloo about strider?"

"All the fucking hullabaloo about Strider!" he replied quickly, grip tightening. "Goddammit, how the hell did you know that was my name?"

A short silence had followed, mostly because you found it hard to speak around the wall of awkward between the two of you. His name? "...Your name is Strider? I thought it was Dirk?"

"Most people have more than one name, your highness."

You broke into a relieved smile. "Aw, man, your name is Dirk Strider? That's fantastic! You just have the most far out name, you know that? Celestial radicalness. What's with all the fuss about it?"

Dirk had stayed still for a moment, face disturbed by the slightest trace of...confusion? He slowly ungrasped you, arms sinking to his sides. "...Oh."

After some nagging on your part, he finally confessed that he disliked being identified as a Strider, because his family had done some un-discussed shady things in the past and he didn't want to be known as belonging to them. Your curiosity gnawed holes in the back of your skull and lit them on fire with needing-to-know, but you kept your mouth clamped and respected his privacy.

You didn't need to know every detail about his life. Just the same, he didn't need to know every detail about yours.

You snap back to reality with a startle as you suddenly feel a leather grip slammed over your mouth and yanking you back. You cry out in surprise and squirm, but the sound is muffled against the palm firmly keeping your jaws clamped shut. With an irritated glance, you look up at Dirk, who is behind you and pulling you into the bushes. He scowls down at you and mouths, "Shh," before pulling you up and over with him, ducking down into the cover of shrubbery.

His eyebrows raise at you and he presses a finger to his lips, obviously telling you to stay quiet as he slowly removed his hand, giving an eyeroll that you could practically feel as he looked down at your saliva coating the glove where you had tried to get him to release you.

"Mature," he mutters with barely enough breath to make a sound at all.

"What the hell was that about?" you counteract angrily in a similar matter.

He jerks his head forward, where the two of you were previously standing. "Look."

You frown slightly but comply, turning and peaking over the bush just far enough to let your eyes scan over the top. Oh. You get it now.

"The Messenger Captors!" you whisper excitedly, nearly hearing them before you see them.

Down the path through the forest came the two royal messengers of Skaia, dressed in unique matching outfits that consisted of a half-yellow, half-purple tunic with the crescent smack bam in the middle, each sleeve the opposite color of the corresponding side, yellow with the purple half and vice versa. Their trousers also followed this half-and-half pattern, tucked neatly into shin-length brown boots.

The job of a messenger was an important one.

The brothers Captor- Sollux the younger and Mituna the elder- were the only people in Skaia that lived in the area of Prospit and Derse allowed to cross between the two kingdoms freely and at will. It was their job to stay neutral and simply deliver news between the Kingdom of Light and Kingdom of Dark. They were also extremely helpful, as they knew the land of the opposing side better then anyone in yours, and were great when acting as confidents to monarchs by giving tips on how to not disrupt the other. They were loved and respected by all, and as the one link between the two bitter foes, able to attend council meetings with updates from lands afar. Of course, if requested, they would also keep certain information top secret from enemy ears and not speak a word of it. You liked the pair an awful lot, even given their extreme eccentricities.

Mituna, as one would expect, was skipping in front of Sollux, blabbering loudly about God knows what. The poor guy had suffered a major head trauma a couple years ago and had lived with severe brain damage ever since. But while most of the time incoherent, he hasn't lost any of his intelligence or sharp, biting humor. Really, it only made him speak louder, faster, less comprehensible, and way more prone to nearly violently bipolar swings with much more body motion when he was having a fit. Otherwise, good old rude but a hoot Mituna.

Sollux was a few paces behind him, forehead in his hand, mumbling something to try to calm him down or shut up. Sollux was commonly regarded as one of the most intelligent trolls around. He was a whizz with inventions and a true prodigy with mechanics. He was a sarcastic and condescending fellow, but beneath his exterior a truly nice guy. You think. And his spectacles? One lense crimson red, it's twin an ultramarine blue? So. Cool!

Without giving much of a thought to it, you start to stand up and raise your hand to wave madly, before letting out a sharp "Gerk!" as you were yanked to the ground once more.

"Are you stupid?" hisses Dirk, looking directly at you. "Do you _WANT_ them to see us and find out?"

You purse your lips. Oh. Right. No, actually, you don't want that. He jabs his thumb where they're walking, mouthing, "Listen" and nodding.

You nod as well, closing your eyes and crouching, trying to tune in.

"...SOLLUX! Sollux. Soooolllllux. Sollux." High pitched and obnoxious. Obviously Mituna.

"Oh my fucking god, what." Irritated and slightly lisp-hindered. That'd be Sollux.

"...You're an asshole! Hahahaha!" Mituna broke into a fit of laughter. You didn't half to see him to imagine him doubled over, clutching his stomach, wild mop of dandelion-curls bouncing. You have to stifle a chortle yourself at the sound of the older cracking himself up and Sollux completely silent, the mental image of the younger next to him, shoulders hunched, face a display of undying annoyance really funny in your mind.

"Thanks, bro. Alright. Let's duck into Prosth- shit, Prospit and get the lowdown and then we can head back, okay?"

"Aww, can I stay the night? Pleeeeassseeee?" begged Mituna in a whiny tone.

You heard Sollux exhale and continue walking. "And what exactly prompts that desire, MT?"

Mituna's footsteps behind his suddenly quicken. He was excited. "Tulip's there!" he says happily. "Tulaloola! Wanna spend with time her please please PLEASE wanna do it too looong in Derse. I want Tulip godfuckingDAMMIT!" You can't help but smile a little. It wasn't quite confidential that Knight Pyrope and Mituna had a thing going, which was quite frankly one of the most adorable relationships you've ever witnessed. The quick kisses in the halls when they'd pass, Mituna resting his head in her lap with her threading her fingers gently through his hair when they both had free time, the adorable nicknames, the way that they'd leap into each other's arms whenever Mituna arrived at Prospit because it was only once or twice a month...yeah. You definitely wanted to have a romance like theirs someday. Beautiful and accepting of each other's flaws.

"Fine, fine, you can go see Latula. But why do you need to spend the ni-? Oh. Dude, no. Too much informa-"

"I'M GONNA GET LAAAAIIID!" Mituna replied proudly in a sing-song manner, punctuated by cackles.

You could literally hear the skin slap of Sollux's facepalm. "Alright. Therious- FUCK. Serious business. Recap, what are we here to do?"

"Check in on Prospit," replies Mituna merrily.

"Good. And?"

"And tell them about the Prince."

"One more."

"...I. I can't. I can't remember! Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck I can't remember I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

"M. T. Calm. The fuck. Down. It's okay. Last one is just ask how their battle planning is going, remember?"

"Oh yeah."

A heavy sigh. "Just let me do the talking." The footsteps gradually fade and dim, showing that the pair of brothers were walking on, and when their steps were inaudible completely, out of earshot.

You didn't realize you were holding your breath until you let it out, lungs deflated, panting for the air you were too scared to take in while they walked by. You blink open your eyes and rub them, looking up. Jeepers. It really was getting late, and you didn't want to arouse suspicion. You turn to where your friend was crouching beside you to alert him. "Hey, as regretful as I am to inform you, I think it's hightime that I- uh, Dirk? Dirk? ...Where'd you go?"

* * *

 **== > **Be the other messily black-haired, bucktoothed, and bespectacled dork.

This meeting wasn't terrible, at least. The Captors came, which was always fun.

You greeted them as they walked in to your personal torture chamber, bumping fists with Sollux, relieved to have a sustainable chat with someone your age. You called the council to attention as they delivered the standard news. Derse was fine and still unaware of Prospit's belligerent intentions. (They were two of the only other people to so far know about your plans for battle.) They did mention to keep your eyes peeled for patrol parties, as the Prince- who was the Derse Heir, but with a way less cool title- was taking them out late at night now. As soon as they delivered all the required information, Mituna hopped up and down, hand raised, asking, "Can I be excused? Can I?" Sollux opened his mouth to reply but he had already dashed out the door down the corridor that led to the battle training grounds, where the knights were finishing up their pre-battle midnight sessions. Aww. That was adorable.

The members went back to strategizing, each tuning out everything else once more. You talked with Sollux a bit more, which was really relaxing, giving him the basic layout of what plans you had so far. He listened intently, giving you some actually helpful pointers which you had nearly forgotten people could do.

"Here," he says, tapping his finger over the blue 'X' scrawled on the 'Battle Formation' parchment representing you. "No, you need to be in front, not Mindfang and Redglare."

"Yeah. I know. They did that part."

"Right. So you in front, and then...why the hell is Jake all the way back here? A king's- or king-to-bee's- page needs to be his right hand man, right beside you. You don't fuck with tradition. Or, the non-moronic ones." He traces a line from the forest green mark towards the back right up alongside of the blue one, looking up at you. "The Queen and him should switch places."

That...made sense, actually. It was like chess- the Queen was the top-value piece in the entire set and had to be protected the most out of all the others. The King and his Bishops would be on the front line instead- and be total bosses! You smile and nod. "True! I should go tell him that." You pause, your gaze falling. "Oh yeah. He doesn't know yet."

"...He doesn't- What?! He doesn't know yet?" sputters Sollux. "Go the fuck tell him! You should really take his consthent- shit- into account."

You started to say, "But I'm not supposed to!" but didn't. Because honestly, keeping this from everyone was awful. Especially him. ESPECIALLY if he was going to be right next to you.

And besides...no one had to know that you told him, right? And what's the worse he could do?

Tell a Derse?

* * *

 **== > **Go back to being the first black-haired, bucktoothed, bespectacled dork. The one with the funny artificial accent and bad humor.

You're up in your bedroom, kneeling in front of your window, glumly staring out at the meadow- a sea of navy blues and raven blacks in the night- stretching below you. You hadn't seen one glimpse of Dirk anywhere. Not when you looked all around for your companion in the forest, not from your vigilant perch here.

You guess he just went back to the village, but it would've been nice if he said something.

"Hey, Jake." You jump and fall backwards, flat on your back, at the voice all of a sudden behind you. (You don't scare easy, honest to God, but when everyone kept doing this, it was hard not to!)

You are looking upside down into the gentle, laughing eyes of John Egbert, bending over you. "Haha. Whoops! Sorry man, didn't mean to scare you!" His expression changes, but so slightly you wondered if you imagined the nervousness or anxiety or something pinch his face. "Um. I gotta talk to you about something." Oh. You didn't imagine it. He's just trying to hide it.

You prop up on your elbows, brushing yourself off, and straighten back up to a standing position, putting your hands on your hips. "Sure! What say you, fair cousin?"

He kicks at the ground, walking over and plopping down on your bed, uneasily pulling his legs in to fold them in a crisscrossing manner. You follow suit, looking over. "Well?"

"It's something I really should've told you a while ago." _I concur_. "But just...ugh! I hate keeping secrets!" _Yep. That too. But when it's for the best it's okay, right_? "And since we've always been the tightest buds on a complete honesty relationship, it's only fair that I uphold my end and tell you?" _Cripes don't say that,_ _jesus_ _John don't say that I feel awful now..._

"Yeah?"

He draws in a deep suck of air, looking down, and back to you. "...We're planning a war against Derse, Jake." Your eyes shoot open and your jaw falls open. "And I'm going to tell you everything I know about it."

* * *

 **== > **Prince of Dark: Race the Sun.

You are now the Prince of the Moon, and you're tragically slipping behind schedule.

You can run, though, and you can run fast. This is a minor inconvenience in the greater scheme of it all. Everything was running smoother then a well-oiled machination.

The task you had set yourself up for was playing out with marvelous, pleasantly shocking ease. The arranged times matched up. Your facade was flawless. And your persona was the perfectly crafted deception, the star of the show.

People were so gullible. It was almost pathetic what bullshit you could feed them if you served it on a silver platter and called it cake. However, that was no complaint on your half.

The lies you whispered were taken in as truth and trust and affection. The manipulation you were putting forth was wrapped up in happiness and labeled friendship.

In such a short amount of time, you were already making far more progress then you could've dreamed off. And if it was already like this now, you could only imagine what it would be like in the months to come.

You would win.

The sweet taste of victory would be yours and yours alone with what you would gain.

The Royal Heir of the Kingdom of Prospit would be wrapped around your finger- more so then he already was.

 

* * *

[ _Use caution when choosing who to put your trust in._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=drJD-92G8hU)

 


	6. ==> Puppetmaster: Unmask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter, Ringmaster of Distortion.

==> Puppetmaster: Unmask.

This putrid, disgustingly bright yellow was going to burn into your eye sockets if you had to spend another hour surrounded by the gag-inducing, airway-clogging gold.

It was so much easier to breathe once you slipped out of the repulsive garments, revealing the royal purple, pearly white lined, crescent emblemed robes underneath that rested your sore eyes to fall upon, as well as the wonderfully dark, cool, crisp shaded air of the starless stretch of night and the dripping darkness that came with it.

You draw in a breath of midnight as the light wind teased the ends of your hair. Your eyes fall to the hole in the oak to your left, probably an abandoned home of some poor owl who exercised it's freedom and got out of there while it still could. You stuff your sickening, dirty robes into it, snatching the satchel inside and flipping it open, sliding the gleaming silver, amethyst encrusted crown atop your head, adjusting it to situate in your hair. You let out a long, slow breath, straightening up once more, scooping up handfuls of brittle leaves peppering the forest floor and tossing them in the hollow so that the yellow robes were concealed under a mound of autumn's fallings, perfectly disguised from any passerby. You wipe your filth smeared knuckles on the folds of your regally stupid pantaloons, hopping on one foot in a clumsy, nearly comical manner as you slipped the polished leather mid-shin length boots on your feet. You regain your balance, running a fingertip along the edge of your lavender and white striped collar, tugging the lapels to curve properly around your neck, and sweep your freshly combed bangs to the side. At last, you were ready.

A royal has to look presentable and proper in his own kingdom.

==> Reveal.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you are as far from a poor, bottomfeeding peasant of Prospit as one can get.

You are, in fact, the Prince of the Kingdom of Derse.

And boy, do you have a shitton of explaining to do. ...However, when you say that secret meetings with the noble of Prospit disguised as a commoner is in the best interest of your people, you mean it.

You muse on all that had happened in the frazzled days that have passed as you slink over the plain to the back entrance to the mauve palace, impeccably carefully melding into the shadows of the night as to remain unseen, slipping past the unconscious guards (They'd be fine. They'd awake the next morning perfectly okay with no memory of how the Prince knocked them out with a swift, practiced-to-perfection blow to the back of the skull) and press against the door.

==> Start on that shitton of explaining.

Fine.

No one in the castle's main hall, of which you just entered, was awake. So you have time for a flashback.

* * *

==> Three weeks ago...

"You going on patrol?"

"Nah. Just me."

"I still don't get why you do that. But fine. You taking Timaeus?"

"No. The poor guy needs rest after yesterday's ride. Monthly conditioning is unnecessarily tough shit."

Your brother cocks his hip, curling his hands into fists and resting them on his sides. "Poor dude. You receive clinics specialized for you and your own purebred stallion, woe is you. You're spoiled rotten."

A moment of silence hangs thickly in the air.

Then you both break out in chuckles at the irony.

After the laughter ebbs into breathy, manageable snickers, you flash a half-smirk (all you'd really ever do) at the teen in front of you. "Says the future captain of the guards in his gold-plated with suitors spilling out the fucking wazoo."

"I'm gorgeous."

"Because you look like me?"

"Because I don't look like you."

"Ouch. That hurt."

"Need some ice with that third degree bu-?"

"No, but you might need some for your actual burn. What part of you thought grabbing your metal sword resting by the fire for an hour was a good idea?"

"…"

"…"

"Get your ass out there before I tell Rose that you're sneaking out and she will rain hell on you."

"I'm going, I'm going. Catch you later, Dave."

"Go away Dirk."

The ego of Dave Strider- Royal Knight in Training, future Captain of the Guards, second in line for the throne of Derse and your little brother- was a fragile thing.

He huffs at you, ducking his bandage-wrapped left hand behind his back and granting you a ruby red glare that you could sense as easily concealed as otherwise behind black-lensed eyewear, giving a haughty flourish of his richly scarlet cape. He turns his right palm parallel to the ground and flexes his fingers in a "Shoo" motion.

You give a half-grin and quick nod, spin on your heel and are on your way.

Life for you is pretty good.

You are the heir to the throne of the Land of the Moon, and highly respected throughout your kingdom, even if you hold reign at just sixteen and three quarters old. You have unrivaled swordsmanship skills, blessed with- as the fruit of your labors- a custom made, ungodly sharp blade, utterly indestructible blade imported from the Asian lands and it's your most prized possession. In your free time, instead of dicking around like a normal adolescent male like your sixteen-year-old sibling, you hold yourself above that and spend your hours flipping through bibles of philosophy while taking notes and writing your own. (That's where the name of your beloved horse- Timaeus- derives from. A highly civilized title, compared to your brother's piteously named mare, Geromy Doritos Stiller Godhead the Fourth.) Another favorite pastime of yours is mechanical engineering. You love helping the kingdom's inventor brothers, the Zahhaks, with their projects when you had free time and they weren't too busy throwing themselves at your feet. Which could be mildly cool sometimes but mostly creepy.

You are proud to say you are considered remarkably intelligent, especially for your age. And...not to blow your own whistle or anything but you really don't object to that. You read yourself to sleep on Aristotle as a child, can compute endless mathematical possibilities for any equation or situation in a matter of seconds inside your head, and will compulsively provoke someone and argue the opposing side just for the sake of deep intellectual debate because you get antsy when you're bored.

Of course, you also loved to just slip out of the castle whenever you could and just...escape, for a little while. Being a prince, as one would expect, wasn't an easy-breezy position to sustain. You always had people to see (which was awful because you were as socially elegant as a rock), papers to sign (which severely tested your attention span), and problems with the kingdom and it's villagers to solve (which was awful because you were as socially elegant as a rock). So rarely did you pass up the chance to get some fresh air and clear your head when a window of oppurtunity presented itself. And it's not like your family was telling.

==> Introduce familials.

You weren't the only noble in Derse, obviously. There was your younger brother who you had been chatting with earlier, David, who went exclusively by the far less regal and formal-sounding "Dave" to anyone who didn't want the royal knight pissy with them. He was just under a year younger then you, but it still put him as second-in-line. Most people, however, assumed the two of you to be twins. As much as it may have irritated you when you were mistaken for each other- which happened all the fucking time when you were younger- from an outsider's point of view, it was understandable. You were a matched pair of lean, pale, freckle-dusted dudes with butter blonde tresses in fowl-inspiried, kickin' rad styles yo. You also both signaturely keep straight-set faces, light on emotion, and cover your eyes with hella neat eyewear. They were all charts of cool while also covering up the less-than-comfortably-normal mutated colorations of your irises which you prefer not to talk about. (You were also huge fans of slangs and enjoyed coming up with terms between the two of you, if that wasn't already apparent enough.) You yourself sported a pair of pointy, scalene glasses with specially tinted lenses to conceal what was beneath. Dave spent his youth sporting an identical pair- which only added to the constant mix ups- until he hit thirteen. You and the Ro-Lals took him out to see a touring show downtown, starring his most revered actor of all time, Benvolio Stiller. As a special gift, you arranged a post-performance meet up with the guy, who took the circular shades right off his face and presented them to the younger prince of Derse with his highest honors. Needless to say, Dave hasn't taken them off since.

You loved Dave to the furthest nebula calculable and back. He wasn't just your brother- he was your other half, he was the world to you. After all, he was the only family you had le- well, that wasn't...totally true. He was your only kinsman by biological relation, but the Lalondes were as much your family as Dave.

The highest family of nobility in all the land, the Lalonde sisters and you Striders had literally slept with each other in mahogany, gem-encrusted cribs since day one. Roxanne, Roxy to most, had grown up with you since you were both infants (you were a day older than her, and had shared a cradle in the nursery) and was your best friend. She was an extraordinarily smart, talented girl with a quirky humor that always managed to bring an impossible smile to your rigid lips, with large pink eyes as bright and beautiful as her heart. You discovered early on she was quick as a doe and stealthy like the shadow of a fly on the wall, so she was put in training as a rogue since she was little to tap into the potential everyone saw in her. And she was damn good at it. ...Lately, though, even with her trying to hide it, you deduced that she had been using her lock-picking skills to break into the alcohol cabinet to try to drown out the troubles that her cheerful façade never showed in a sea of wine. It was a touchy subject and she so often reassured you that she was fine and trying to stop, but you only are constantly telling her to quit because it absolutely breaks your heart.

Rose, her younger sister Dave's age, was an awful lot like you. In a good way. So of course you were fond of the apprentice seer. You and her shared a love for intellectual stimulating talks and dense reading material, her to her dark horror stories and you to your Grecian dialogues. (Someone at least had the decency to appreciate marvelous works of smart and thought-provoking literatures, as opposed to Roxy and Dave who would snort at you two reading "old geezer addresses" but what did they know.) And boy, were you both sticklers for grammar. You and Rose were close, but it was Dave that had a relationship with her that mirrored yours and Roxy's, considering her his sister and the mere thought of romance with her as gag-inducing incest.

==> Talk about the trolls of your kingdom.

Eh. Some of them are cool, but you don't emotionally care about them as much as your family, so they'll get shorter descriptions.

As the wealthiest and highest-class trolls in Skaia, the Peixes were fucking stacked. You were fond of Witch Peixes, the younger, who was upliftingly cheery and was exceedingly talented at her work for someone so young, healing hands so skillful they were almost magic. Her older counterpart, Thief Peixes, is kind of a greedy, self-absorbed bitch that you know you should hate but there's just something _awesome_ about her and you two are pretty tight.

Just under them were the Amporas. You could never bring yourself to remotely like that slimeball creep Bard Ampora or his obnoxiously haughty little brother Eridan, and that was really all there was to say on the matter.

The Leijons were pretty fondly tolerable, if not a bit...much. Mage Leijon was a kind girl with a heart of gold, never once letting her handicap of deafness impair her spirit, and Rogue Leigon was sweet and good friends with her fellow trainee Roxy, but you personally think they should be mariners. You believe they are destined to be sea-farers, with how abnormally excited they get at the mention of ships.

You had already mentioned the Zahhaks. Equius and Horuss, the kingdom's inventors and part-time stable masters. You held great admiration for their works, and appreciated that there were people out there who adored horses as much as you. Of course, groveling at your feet and sweating Noah into making an ark every time they talked to you unless instructed otherwise was their one really fucking weird habit that perhaps prevented you from being as close as you'd like to have been if they didn't. Well, and maybe Horuss' passion for (really terrible) poetry that he constantly writes about some wonder guy that he saw for a fleeting moment years ago, and how the sunlight had made his wings sparkle and lit his red-tipped hair like the burning fire of love kindling in his heart and Horuss was stricken and had been madly in love with his mystery prince charming ever since. (You had heard this story one too many times.)

Lastly were the Megidos, day and night in terms of how different the sisters were. Maid Megido, the younger of the two, had a borderline unsettling fascination with death and an odd love for spelunking, but was bright and helpful. Witch Megido, whom Witch Peixes was under the apprenticeship of, was a totally different animal. God knows why but she spoke exclusively in an Asian tongue (it wasn't even that she didn't know English- she could comprehend it just fine but refused to speak it). Luckily, your guilty pleasure was- well, okay fine, still is- illustrated novels from over yonder in the land of the rising sun, and through readings and obsessive analysis of them, you taught yourself the dialect. This made you one of the few people in all of Skaia to understand her- but being able to translate what she whispered to you wasn't necessarily a good thing, as perhaps some of what she says you'd rather not have the ability to comprehend.

She seems more eager to tear off your shirt and lick your nipples than most people.

==> Dirk: Back to reality.

While you were busy describing the notable inhabitants of Derse, you had ran out to the woods, which was great.

However, you are now up a tree, arms and legs tightly clinging to a high, protruding branch like Rogue Leijon when she's scared, trying so hard not to move a muscle to not disturb the leaves of the oak or even _breathe_ because just your luck that you could see the yellow smudge of approaching Prospit scum, which was sufficiently less great.

You could hear your own pulse throbbing in your ears, every muscle in your body straining to a point of lightly trembling to keep yourself clenched onto the branch and still. If the Prince of Derse, alone by himself in the undergrowth, fell at their feet, head rattling and breath staggered from the impact, the merciless bastards wouldn't hesitate a moment in slicing your head clean off it's shoulders.

You loathed everything about the yellow-adorned bottomfeaders who called themselves a civilized kingdom and how they were always so desperate to pull the innocent act, like they were victimized angels of Heaven who never sinned in their lifetime, blaming everything on those devilspawn Dersites.

Like they had never done wrong.

Like you hadn't held Roxy close to you, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, as she shook uncontrollably and sobbed out every tear in her body into your chest as you stood, no more then six years old, over the still corpse of her mother, eyes open and glazed, warm, fresh blood trickling from the corners of her lips.

The patrol that Lady Lalonde was on had accidentally strayed too close to those sun bastard's border for them to freak out and raise their weapons, even though they hadn't crossed it. Panicked, the Dersites took a defensive position. And all that remains of that day is a bloody blur of history.

Prospit shot first and murdered Lady Lalonde.

Derse recoiled and returned the unprovoked favor by going on a belligerent raid on the village. They didn't even kill as many as Prospit said they did, those exaggterating liars. The battle stopped abruptly when some royal old lady was stabbed. The Derse party had the courteousy to retreat immediately, taking Lady Lalonde's body with them for a proper burial.

You remember it so vividly in every searing detail- how Roxy came out to see what was going on. How she stopped suddenly in her tracks, eyes going wide with unadultered horror. How she collapsed on the spot.

They made Roxy cry, and so help you God you were going to kill them someday.

==> Prospits: Approach.

You swallow a hiss as the cunching leaves draw louder. They were coming.

Dim buzzing of conversation- bickering- floats up to you. You tilt your head in an attempt to make out the words.

"...Going to say?" That was a female voice. Young, but not overly so. Dave's age, maybe. You can only catch maddening snippets of dialogue without falling out.

"I don't know! What...you think...should do?" Male. Same age as the girl. You frown. Who the fuck were they?

Slowly, slowly, back breakingly slowly you inched back and turn, fingers prodding at the leaves to make a small window for you to peek out of. There were the two speakers. You couldn't make them out superbly, but you could tell it was a teenage boy and girl, human and in- human? Holy shit, these were the royals?

Your eyes shoot open, suddenly far more interested in this conversation than previously. You tilt to get a better look. he girl is closer to you, so you can pick out more details on her than the boy and hear her more clearly. She has long, glossy ebony hair tumbling past her shoulder blades and circular...glasses, you think. Her outfit is putridly yellow, white pearl buttons and an embroidered moon on her long-sleeved top with a long, flowing skirt, pale honey and white striped accents and delicate powder purple flats. She was certainly a royal. You had never seen the Prospit noble family of knew anything about them personally, but you did know that their (metaphorical) bluebloods were four humans, just like in Derse. Wow. You didn't know they were your age, either.

The slender-framed boy had a mop of messy obsidian tresses, square spectacles, and buckteeth. (Wow. They sure did boast some...impressive royalty.) He was in pretty much the male version of her outfit, but with trousers and other small differentiating details that you couldn't really make out from two stories off the ground and looking through leaves.

What the hell were two royals doing out here?

"...My god, no! Tell them no!" the girl was shrieking at the boy. "It'll only end in death!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" sharply snaps back the boy.

The girls balls her fists and puts them on her hips. "Well, I don't know! Maybe the _Royal Heir of Prospit_ can put in his say about _his kingdom going to war with Derse!_ "

You nearly fall out of the tree.

_Nearly._

Royal hei-? _War with Derse?_

The...the heir, apparently, scuffs his feet. "I already told you. We decide today. Yes, war."

"When?"

"...I can't tell you yet."

You are shaking now. Shaking and digging your nails into the branch.

Fuck. Fuck, Prospit was going to wage war on Derse, shit this was bad.

And the heir had information that he wasn't saying.

Information that could save the lives of the inhibitors of your land.

There was a long break in conversation between the two until the girl let out a long sigh. "...Okay. I got it. I guess I can see where you're coming from. Sorry for getting mad. I'm just..." Her voice gets softer. "I'm worried, J..." She speaks even quieter on that last word. Damn.

Well, the heir had what sounded like a one-syllable name that started with J.

Okay. You could work with that.

You look back up to see the two locking in an embrace, J-something murmuring gently to her. "I know. It'll all be okay, just you see, Jade. We have a strong militia and know we've been wronged." You were going to strangle something. "…But this is top secret, okay?" he says as he pulls back, stroking her hair. It wasn't a romantic gesture. It was affection and full of comfort. These two were family. "I know I already said it, but I mean it."

"I know," whispers the girl in a small, tight tone of voice. "I know. Let's head back, okay? They're gonna wonder where we got to."

The boy nods and takes her hand, disappearing amidst the leaves again.

You are left a quivering, anxious mess up in the tree, your mind ablaze and spinning at wicked speeds, taking in the information and automatically beginning to concot hypotheticals, probabilities, and the most dangerous of all...a completely mad plan.

 _...Got somethin' in the makings, Dirk?_ comes a small voice in your head.

You pause for a moment before slowly replying.

_It's crazy. Totally crazy. It could never work._

_...But yeah. I do._

==> Four days later...

Apparently, you could sew.

Fuckin' manly.

You rub the bags under your eyes as you stare down at the golden tunic in your lap. You were sick of staring at the goddamn thing. If you had finished it five minutes later, you would've poked your eyes out with the needles in your hands.

It had been four tedious days since your scheme hatched. Since then, you've been kicked up on constant overdrive, sleep lost among planning, planning, planning, sewing, sewing, sewing. You worked out a basic outline of what you were going to do and how to achieve it and keep it in the highest degree of confidentiality possibly. (If a soul knew what you were up to, you'd never be able to go through with it. And this was too important to be stopped.) You had to keep this from Dave and the Lalondes.

You hated doing it, but it was for the best.

Your idea was a simple one. Disguise yourself as a Prospit villager and sneak out at night, when everyone was asleep. Find the heir, who would no doubt be on nightly patrols. Tell him that you're overwhelmed with honor in his presence, as a lowly peasant has only heard stories of his greatness. Get him friendly with you. Suggest nightly meet ups. Get him to trust you more then anyone else in the world, slowly, gradually over however long it took, feigning affection and car. He would open up to you, bit by bit, giving you the information you asked for, and then one night, once you were satisfied, you would leave for the dawn and never come back. You'd tell everything to your kingdom, get them ready, prepared. Prospit would think that'd launch a surprise attack.

But that'd have a nasty little surprise waiting for them.

You had finally put in the final stitch of golden thread of the moon on your breast pocket and alas. Done.

_Looking good, man. Well, as good as Prospit filth-esque clothes can get._

There was that voice in your head again, piping up to put forth his un-asked for opinion. _Thanks._

_More like ProsPEASANTS am I right._

_Don't do that._

_I had fun once._

==> Introduce the vaguely familiar sounding self-aware second conscious in your mind.

It sounded crazy when you put it like that, but honest to God you were perfectly sane.

You were just conversing with a brain clone of your thirteen-year-old mind who resided in your pointy shades and talked to you in your head. Did that _sound_ like something a lunatic would come up with?

Three and three quarters years ago, you experienced a splitting headache and logically went to the witches chamber to get it fixed.

Unfortunately, the pain reliever potion you were given was crafted by Witch Peixes.

On her first day.

Her barely-contained excitement instantly switched to a look of horror as you gagged on the mixture as it went down your throat in a scorching manner, falling forward to your hands and knees as the bothersome pain throbbing in your skull went to searing and excruciating. For a horror filled moment spent praying to God, everything went white hot and dull, the only other noise audible was a shrieking in the background. "OH MY COD! I KRILLED THE PRINCE!"

You honestly thought you were going to die.

And as quickly as the screaming jolt of pain came, it was gone.

Raggedly gasping, you straightened back up to your knees. Everything was buzzing. Witch Peixes looked as relieved as you felt. You were okay.

_Well, that was a dinger._

Your eyes snapped open. You could've sworn your just heard...heard your own voice. But you didn't say anything?

 _This is...weird,_ came it again. _Wow, can you say 'wrong potion'? Don't know if it quite CURED your headache but it sure as hell did SOMETHING to your head. I mean, I'm here now. Fascinating. What was in that stuff?_

It...was talking. To you? Your own voice was talking to you? On it's own accord? _Oh my fucking god. Are you my conscience? Or something? Because that'd be impossible, there's no scientific evidence proving that they exist past a subconscious morality contradiction of yourself and you wouldn't be self-aware. And also, if you are, where the hell have you been my entire life._

_Conscience? Hell no. Well, here- how good of a conscience do you think you would be?_

Actually, your moral judgment sucked rotten eggs. _A really bad one._

_Then I'm not your conscience._

_What?_

_Based on the results obtained from the scan I preformed 1.37 seconds ago, actually, your splitting headache was cured by literally splitting your head. I'm you point two. Hello._

Did the voice in your mind just tell you it was you. _...Excuse me._

_Your mind just got cloned, man. Trippy elixir. Anyway, now I'm here, too. ...I think I'm tethered to your glasses though. That pain was my birth, so to say, and based on a quick data check the essence latched onto the first object it could. Considering your glasses are, well, on your face, must've latched to that. Even more interesting is the fact that it seems that while you're wearing them, I can talk to you via conversing through brain waves._

_...Oh my fucking god._

_What?_

_I don't even think that was a potion. I'm drugged. Definitely drugged._

Turns out you weren't, though. Or if you were it's lasted a hell of a long time.

Your mind clone was indeed leeched to your shades allowing him access to your brain while you were sporting him. This had it's ups and downs that you had to deal with because besides sleeping, you never removed your shades. The ups consisted of you always having someone to talk and rigorously debate with an another point of view on any situation.

The cons often seemed more apparent, though. He could drive you up the wall sometimes and was forever stuck at the cocky, strangle-ably irritatingly mental maturity of your thirteen year old self. He would bug you at really inconvenient times and go through your thoughts when having a conversation. Sometimes you wanted to rip him off your face and snap his frames on your knee, sure, but people would think you've gone postal for angrily breaking your prized shades and storming off. (You didn't really tell anyone about him, or you'd probably be the celebrity convict of the Derse mental institution.) So, you bared it. Nobody noticed, anyway. Talks with him were inside your head and only seconds to anyone else.

He had since named himself Halathan, Galactic Overlord of Mind and Matter, Dungeon Master of the Universe.

For obvious reasons, you just call him Hal.

 _So,_ chirps on Hal, back in the present. _Going out tonight?_

 _Yeah,_ you reply, dusting off the jacket and holding it to your chest to check the fit.

_How are you getting past the guards?_

_Easy. Knock 'em out. Back of the skull where the memory will be short-term tampered with. They won't feel and thing and then won't remember how they got knocked out in the morning when they wake up anyway._

_I think in a past life you were a well-practiced fugitive._

_If we're being honest, I do too._

You had slipped on the robes, pinwheeling your arms for a comfort and motion range test. They were a good size for you- if not a little sloppy and mis-stitched at parts, being your first time with a needle and thread on your own, but you suppose it added to the authenticness.

_...Alright Hal. Everyone asleep?_

_Yep._

_Perfect. Let's go trick ourselves an Heir._

==> Prospit Peasant Dirk Strider: Adventure.

_Turn left here._

_Oh my God, we're fucking making circles._

_No, we're not. Turn left here, at this tree._

_Dude, we've passed by this goddamn tree twice already._

_This is a different tree, Dirk. There are many similar looking trees here._

_We're lost! You said you knew where we're going!_

_I do. Turn left here._

You were going to straight up flip a bitch.

Of course. You sneak out, stealthily have to travel into enemy territory, change into your Prospit garb and stuff your royal fingery in some oak like an hour ago, and your glasses get you motherfucking _lost_.

Typical.

You are _somewhere_ in the forest blotting over the border of the two kingdoms and you were 94% sure you are in the Prospit half because you don't have the tiniest trickle of an inkling where you are, which is rather problematic.

Your eyes flick up, taking in the duvet of thickly black canopy hanging like sheets to dry above you. The bleeding orange of dusk had been soaked in the creeping dusty sapphire telling you that twilight had flipped over it's hourglass now, watching you scramble around like a mouse in a maze in a bemused state with glinting starry eyes, the pressure of time and the vertigo of uncertainty beginning to coil around your lungs.

You were knee-deep into enemy territory, lost, no sign of the heir anywhere, and if they found and recognized you, they'd have your head faster then you could scream and you would never say goodbye.

What were you thinking?

With a rib-collapsing sigh, you wheel around and stumble through the undergrowth in a vaguely familiar path where you think you had come from.

It was best you get home- ow! Fuck, what the hell?

You find yourself tumbling ass-backwards onto the ground with a stinging buzz of pain, a distinct effect of collision. You tried to recompose yourself as fast as possible, rubbing your eye and blinking like crazy. A smear of yellow was splayed in front of you. An awfully familiar one.

...No. Fucking. Way.

"Your highness?"

You can't believe it. This can't be him. This couldn't have been this easy.

Oh, but it _was_.

There he is. The Royal Heir of Prospit. Messy black locks sticking up in funny angles, beaver chompers poking out from his top lip, delicate frames of seeing spectacles balancing on his nose, adorned richly in a lavish marigold outfit... Holy shit. At least, luck had given you mercy. You could save your kigdom.

The Heir, sorely massaging circles into the side of his skull, sits up, eyes (apparently a dazzling emerald green up close) focusing on your. You momentarily tense beneath his gaze, heart thumping with fear of recognition. But he had never seen you before and his body language showed not a trace of suspicion. In fact, oddly enough, he was...straightening up happily and grinning? "That's me!" he chirps quickly. Oh. That's a funny accent. Vaguely British? You're not sure, you didn't notice it before. "I'm flattered you have a pre-established knowledge of my identity."

The tension sinking claws in your shoulders melts away as you let loose a breath of relief. Thank god, he was buying your disguise and seemed genuinely pleased to talk with you. "Yeah, of course I know you, everyone in the Prospitan village reveres the royals." _You filthy piece of shit._ With Hal in addition remind you that flattery leaves good first impressions, you go on. "Wow, it's- this is an enormous honor to meet you. Absolutely huge, your highness."

Yeah. That'll work. You think.

Although the quiet immediately following makes you uneasy. Did you mess it up...?

==> Dirk: Have your arm nearly torn off.

Suddenly you roughly lurch forward with the Heir snatching your hand and inadvertently yanking, shaking it so wildly it sent transverse waves rocking your arm. "Oh, no, no no no, the pleasure is utterly, totally mine, oh, bless your soul!" _The fuck is he pissing his pants for? Doesn't he have people doting on him all the time? Although this is good, I guess._ "And who would you be, kind hearted godsend?"

Damn. It's been thirty seconds and the guy is all over you, like you just dropped a golden brick in his poor beggar's hat. You're on a streak. You force an upturn of your lips, a little pleased with the opportunity to finally present your alter ego's story. "I'm from the village. I was just on my way to pick a couple berries, and had no idea this encounter would take place." _It's true, I wasn't anticipating this. But the sooner the better._ "I feel kinda embarrassed- I would've cleaned up if I knew I was going to be in the presence of royalty." _Oh, you should see me cleaned up._ "I work the fields, your majesty, so I plead you forgive my unkempt, dirty state."

"Oh, call me Jake!" Jake. One-syllable name starting with J. That fit the description. Okay, you can remember that. "Ehm. This could be entirely my blunder, but I don't believe I caught your name...?"

"Oh. Sorry." There was no way in hell you were saying Dirk. Even if he didn't recognize you physically, Dirk was a very uncommon name. You were the only one in Skaia. He'd know of your identity in the blink of an eye. You and Hal had earlier decided on the name of Dane for your Prospit commoner self.

==> Dirk: Don't get distracted and say Dane.

"I'm Dirk."

_Oh, fuck me._

You turn and scowl, swearing under your breath. Shit, you said Dirk. Fuck, he was taking out his sword, ready to carve out your heart and put it in a che- "What's the matter?"

Wide-eyed, your eyes gradually slip back to his, surprised to find him still blank. Oh. He doesn't know. He doesn't seem terribly intelligent- thank God. "No. Uh. Nothing." You awkwardly fumble for words to explain you momentarily loosing your cool. "...It's just, I have kind of a weird name and I didn't want you to know that." That was true, just not in the manner presented. "And weird glasses. And I'm just not normal. Sorry."

He snorts. "My last name is English, you want to talk about weird names with me?" _Jake English. Heir of Prospit. Perfect._ "No, Dirk is totally neat! It sounds like an uber cool name for a blade or something."

What. A. Moron. "It, uh. It is." Had he really never used the Scottish dagger of which you namesakes dervied from before?

"Right! Yes of course." Of course. "And your glasses are a hell of a lot more captivating then my simple necessities pair of lenses," he goes on, wrapping his arms around his shins.

_Damn straight they are._

_Shush, Hal. We're playing it modest here._ "You think so? Thanks, your high- Jake, sorry." You had to remember that his name was Jake. "Wow. I was really nervous because I was expecting you to be all regal and stiff and shit but...you're actually really cool and laid back and conversational which exceeds my expectations." _You're overly friendly and trusting and more gullible then my expectations. Rock on._ "Like the kind of guy you'd want to be best friends with, not just a noble of Prospit. Most other royals aren't like that."

No, they weren't. In Derse, it was survival of the fittest. Only the strong live past the age of five or it's equivalents. You were a kingdom full of battle calloused warriors. You had started war training when you were six, along with your fellow royals and nobles. Your ruler, the Black Queen, was lethally cunning and merciless when needed, leader of her personal army, a group of creatures- each one of them blessed with their own power- codenamed "The Felt". When it came to others, Dersites were taught to never trust anyone but themselves and to live by the shadows of the night. Crime rate in your land was low, due to the terror and fear of knowing that prisoners were given a trial, and if decided guilty, were handed over to and left to the mercy of head council member and law enforcement ruler, the Condesce.

Prospit was soft. Yellow bellied. Rolling over to their backs, begging for tummy rubs.

You and Jake talk for hours on end, the boy unaware of you beginning to fix marionette string on to his elbows.

He adores you. By the end, you two both agree to meet up again tomorrow because you just love each other so much and you can't wait for it.

You had to go, but you make him swear- _swear_ \- to not breathe _a word_ of this to another soul. He nods and signs the contract you have presented him with the blindfold you fit on him, perfectly content with the conditions.

And you're off.

* * *

==> Two and a half weeks later: Be present Dirk again.

And he trusts you more and more everyday.

You are now in your bedroom, studying the ceiling, unable to fall under the sweet spell of slumber. You are musing on when to start to bring up the war to him, not wanting to rush it, but wanting to know as soon as possible.

"Psst." You look up in surprise at the hushed, female voice. "Yo, Stridizzle. You still up and runnin'?"

You don't try to fight the tiny smile creeping onto your lips, sitting up and looking at the silhouette of the figure in your doorway. "Sorry, Rox, I'm asleep. Leave a note at the tone."

A quiet laugh is your response. "Fine. 'Ey Princey boy, this is Captain Roricious Preficious, requesting permish to come in cause I'm getting a major cause of shaken up from some nasty nightmares about mom again."

You frown at her words. It's been so long since the last time she had night terrors about the death of her mother. _Years_ since she had come knocking on your door, trembling, asking in a small, timid voice if she could sleep with you.

Oh. If she was having nightmares again...that's why she's been drinking once more. Your face softens with a gentle, sad expression you knew she couldn't see and you cross your folds and extend your arms. "Access granted," you whisper. "You don't even need to ask for access, Roxy. C'mere."

She is still for a moment before you dimly make out her shape moving, the sheets rustling and a warm, delicate body pressed to your chest soon afterwards. "Sorry about this." Is she...trembling? "I know it's been forever, and I shouldn't still be-"

"Roxanne Lalonde." You wrap your arms around her, closing your eyes and burying your nose in her honey blonde tresses, thumb soothingly stroking the small of her back. "Don't ever apologize. _Ever_. Listen." You feel her shift to tip her head to hear better. "I'm never going to let anyone hurt any of us again, okay?"

"...Promise?"

You had to go talk to Jake nightly and manipulate him into giving you information. You knew it was wrong, but you needed to know everything you could find out to make sure Derse was ready because you couldn't loose anyone. The death of a loved one would destroy you. Roxy, Dave Rose- they were your _everything,_ and you'd be torn to shreds if even a troll died, too.

You needed to do this.

Roxy's breathing has slowed into an even, shallow intake of air, body limp. She was asleep.

You hold her tight, looking up with eyes fogged before slipping them shut and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to her crown.

"Yeah. I promise."

 

* * *

[ _For those you love, you will do anything. Betrayal. Putting your life on the line. Lying to a point where you might break. For as long as you can keep them safe, the Falsifying Prince of Derse you shall be._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0vJdNTsNLw)


	7. ==> Pondersome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because all it takes to start a destructive fire is one tiny spark.

_My dearest_ _jane_ _,_

 _Boy howdy, miss_ _crocker_ _!_ _Howre_ _things? I miss you an awful lot. Things are frustratingly lackluster and dull here without your radiance here to put the sparkle in_ _prospit_ _. I do hope you are well!_

 _I guess the recent times_ _havent_ _been unbearable to an extent of which_ _i_ _simply cant deal with it, though._ _Ive_ _made a real spectacular new pal- a hell of a fellah, if_ _i_ _do say so myself!_ _Heheh_ _. Unfortunately_ _theres_ _not a_ _crapton_ _i_ _can tell you about him just yet. Never fear though! I just know that when you two finally do meet,_ _youll_ _love him. He really knows how to flip a blokes frown upside down, especially during my period of loneliness._

 _Speaking of the sort,_ _theres_ _also some news from john that_ _im_ _totally ITCHING to tell you but_ _thats_ _even more top-secret than my aforementioned comrade. Holy smokes is it important though, so ill check with him on what_ _i_ _can tell you. Or maybe ill just have him tell you himself._

_Well, i should wrap this up, its getting late and i have business to tend to. Write back whenever you get the chance, and send your grandfather warm tidings for me!_

_Cheerio,_

_jake_

* * *

_Dear Jake,_

_Hi Jake! It's an absolute pleasure to talk with you again. It's been...what...two months? At any rate, far_ _too long,_ _hoo_ _hoo_ _! And aw_ _. I'm blushing_ _scorchingly_ _red right now! Don't you just know how to charm a lady?_

_That's good to hear! I'm enthralled by this new friend of yours. He sounds wonderful! I'm sure that I'll like him just the same. If he's a friend of yours, he's a friend of mine! I am a_ _teense_ _curious though, why the secrecy surrounding him? Or...I guess you can't answer that, as I guess that's part of the secret. Is he a troll?_

_I'm very excited to hear John's news! It sounds wonderful. Is it a big surprise?_

_I'll ask the same to you- write back as soon as you can, please! It is awfully boring out here. Don't get me wrong, Grandpa and everyone are wonderful, but I do miss the companionship of you all. Oh, and he says thank you! He's doing well. I should be back sooner than later- a month, maybe? Either way, I'm thrilled at the thought of seeing you again. Until then!_

_Love,_

_Jane_

* * *

_To my lady,_

_Agreed! Time is a fickle thing, much too slow and robbing us of the ones we love. And_ _dont_ _mention it, my sweet, angelic maiden. I only give compliments where compliments are due!_

 _Oh, he is. Just wait until you see his hair! I know that that probably sounds ludicrous a thing to say but_ _itll_ _blow your mind, really! And the confidentiality is alas,_ _im_ _sorry to say, yet another secret._ _Dont_ _worry though_ _im_ _sure all will be revealed in time._

 _Uh. Well,_ _dont_ _get your hopes up. Loathsome as_ _i_ _am to be the one to break it to you, but its really not good news. Crucial information though. Just,_ _erm_ _... well, for the time being, ill leave you with a "make sure your battle skills_ _dont_ _gather rust!"_

 _A month? What a blessing to hear-_ _i_ _was anticipating much longer!_ _Im_ _swelling with excitement at the mere thought of it. You can bet that ill be counting down until then._

_Yours,_

_jake_

* * *

_To my Page,_

_Oh, stop it, you! I can confirm I was giggling and blushing not unlike a schoolgirl at that. Grandpa was giving me funny looks and asked what I was fawning over- he almost confiscated it and read it! And boy, I've already heard the "No boys until you're twenty one" talk from my father enough! :B_

_I won't lie and say that this doesn't sound more and more intriguing by the word! You know how I love my mysteries, and this is only exciting me further! His hair,_ _hm_ _? Fascinating._

_Yes, a month or so, but...my...battle skills? Is everything alright, Jake?_

_Slightly worried,_

_Jane_

* * *

_Oops sorry wait_ _i_ _didnt_ _mean to startle you!,_

 _Haha_ _whoopsie_ _daisy! I apologize if_ _im_ _getting your old man reading over your shoulder._

 _And yes_ _yes_ _his hair and_ _hes_ _just kind of an enigma overall but_ _dont_ _worry everything is all fine and its under control!!! That was a blunder of wording on my part and_ _i_ _said too much then you should really know._

 _Waitwaitwait_ _!! Oh god no_ _thats_ _not how_ _i_ _wanted that to come out! Aw fuck this ink with slate of *sandpaper* for not being erasable! Just rest assured that everything is_ _a-ok_ _, madam. I understand that my rather frantic demeanor may seem to off-put said statement, but believe me, its just spiffy. (Ugh_ _i_ _am so cheesed at john and his_ _fricking_ _confidentiality rules right now and you know what actually_ _im_ _burning steam over his DECISION MAKING SKILLS IN GENERAL.)_

 _Well gods_ _gollywhoppers_ _,_ _i_ _gotta_ _go. Quite urgently. And its not like a pathetic excuse because_ _i_ _just keep digging myself further into a pit of shame by the word but like jade is hollering at me right now to move my_ _keester_ _and go tend to certain orders of business._

 _Unfortunately_ _im_ _\- ok_ _ok_ _shes_ _getting really peeved now._

 _Tootaloo_ _,_

_jake_

* * *

_What?_

_Jake?_

_Jake, what's going on?_

_More worried,_

_Jane_

* * *

==> Be the pseudo-boyfriend who is really bad at his position.

For god's sake SHE IS NOT YOUR LADYFRIEND! ...It pains you say, but- while you still think she's a lovely girl, and wouldn't mind at all bumping up your relationship past friendship if the opportunity presented itself, lately, your feelings for her have been slipping further into a platonic area, and you can't shake this sense of guilt you have about it off of you, even if it's completely irrational.

Of course, you have a heavy burden of guilty pressing down on your shoulders regarding her for a number of other things.

John tells you that Prospit is going to wage war on Derse in three and a half month's time and _you can't tell fucking JANE?_

Ugh! You love John to unfathomable extents but his conditions could just be so INFURIATING at times. You know he plans to keep it hush-hush until a month or two before the actual battle, but you were going to bloody BURST if your lips were required to be sealed for this much longer.

==> Jake: Move it up to Jade before she bites your forefinger off.

Right, right, you're going, you're going.

With a frustrated huff, you set down the quill of the hastily finished letter you were scrawling out to Jane and hop up, doing up the loose pearl buttons of your tunic and brushing off specks of dirt from your thoroughly enjoyable wrestle-fest with your best pal last night. A smile touches your lips at the memory- finally, a decent sparring partner. And suspenders of Satan was he good at it! (If you didn't know any better, you'd say he's had training as well! That was of course preposterous, though. No way would a peasant ever receive any instruction of the sort. He was just a natural, you suppose. Maybe you should teach him a thing or too- he'll need it later!)

"Dammit Jake get up here! If I have to call again I swear to God it'll be the last thing you ever hear!"

"Coming, coming."

You stumble up the stairwell, following the reverberating sound of your cousin's angry voice. You're half terrified out of your wits, but also stricken with pity for her. Jade- normally the sweetest, friendliest, brightest gal in all of Prospit- has lately been stressing herself to the point of strain, staying awake at night in worry and planning with her twin. It's certainly taken it's toll on her, and she's been far more prone to seething outbursts and snappy rudeness. You suppose she has to be, though- John had assigned her head of military organization and training schedules, which was much larger a load of work then he perhaps realized.

You poke your head from the steps to see her standing, foot tapping, arms folded, bags under her unusually dull kiwi-green eyes dark and sagging, in front of you. Ah, man. You're supposed to be training right now and you forgot.

God help you.

"And where've you been?" she snaps.

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck and avert your gaze. "Uh. Writing to Jane."

You feel something fuzzy brush against your hand and you jump and yelp, only to slam it over your mouth in embarrassment when it turns out to be nothing more then the fluffy white fur of Becquerel. The huge dog trots in front of you to curl around the ankles of the Princess of Prospit, making soft whines and rubbing his muzzle against her leg.

Just in time, too. Jade looked like she was going to raise hell until she, too, startled at the sudden presence of her loyal canine companion, luckily pausing the inevitable rant to give a soft, tender look down at him. She bends down to scratch behind his ears as he rests his head on his paws and begins babbling babyspeak in the kindest, softest voice you've heard her use in weeks. "Hi, Beccy baby. Hi! Who's a good boy? You are! Aww, good dog, best friend..." You can't help but give a quirk of lips to match hers at the sight of Jade gushing over her dog.

Past her rough, as-of-late exterior that she had built up to deal with everything, the girl inside hasn't changed a bit.

She eventually composes herself and snaps straight back up to stare at you as if just noticing you were there and clears her throat. "...Anyway. Move it, you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. As schedule coordinator you're really throwing me off here! Do you know how many people I'm in charge of managing that can't afford to have my schedule slacked off on?! ..The other pages are assembled, you guys are teaming up with the knights today for mock fights. Okay?"

Oh, battle scrimmages were positively _delightful_. You give a quick nod and a two-figured salute. "On it!" You lower your hand and blink, a complication suddenly rising. "Uh. When is this to be over?" You can't be late for Dirk, not again like last time when the circuit didn't come to a stop until well into starlight. Of course, you are obligated to stay for the entire duration of whatever it is. You don't think you've ever sprinted so hard in your life to get to Dirk afterwards and hurriedly explain- to a minimum- your absence and apologize.

Jade is now sitting with her legs folded in a neat criss-cross, scratching behind Bec's ears. "Oh. Uh. The council suggested that this goes until late at night, which actually, I think is a brilliant idea! If we initiate war with Derse, no doubt they're gonna attack us then, so it'll be good training for us to get used to fighting in the dark. Right?"

Positively and perfectly just the answer you _didn't want to hear_. Swallowing an inward groan, you let your chin drop to your collarbone and sigh out a, "Yes, ma'am." before trotting off to your chamber to change into your page garb, fumbling around for your pistols and hooking them onto little notches you made in the fabric of your shorts. You squint out your window and wince at the concentrated, intense brightness of the sun dipping in an oncoming of dusk, rolling back your shoulders to loosen them up. You were quite stiff after yesterday's sessions- god, could Tavros really land a hit! ...Sort of. With Rufioh's move-by-move guidance. And it was more of a dull thud but still.

==> Jake: Quit babbling and go train.

Righty-o.

The sooner you're done, the sooner it's off to your pal! So you better hustle.

Mind buzzing with planned conversations of asking him if he wants you to show him some moves or even go see a play, you hop, skip, and bumble onto the battle arena.

* * *

==> Dirk: Practice patience.

Patience?

' _Patience_?' It's well past sundown and he's still a fucking no-show. You've been sitting your ass in soggy moss for upwards of an hour and a half now, the cloak you only gave a half-hearted attempt at making wrapped tightly around your frame because you weren't anticipating it to be this cold. It's your normal rendezvous spot, and he hasn't missed a night for a month and three quarters- did that little snotstuffer tell someone? Holy shit, if he-

_Calm down, Dirk. He's probably just late again like a couple nights ago. Also, it's always this cold. You just don't usually notice it because you and him are engaged in fierce physical activity which heats up your internal body temperature._

_Way to make it not sound like we're fucking, Hal. And he's not this late. He's never this late. Did something happen to him? Oh my God what if it did? Knowing him I wouldn't even be that surprised. He probably got himself hurt on his way here._

_Or he's late. Because, you know, he's not overly intelligent and probably lost track of time. The guy can be late for a period of time without you assuming he was_ _smited_ _by Thor, dude._

 _Pardon my worrying for the only chance we have to prevent any death in_ _Derse_ _, Hal._

_You know when you step back and look at it, that's pretty heartless. I mean, no offense. I'm literally you so I completely understand where you're coming from in your motives, and I know that they're in good intention. But providing an outsider's point of view, you're fussing over the arrival time of another human being- with his own feelings and thoughts- and would be devastated if you lost him for no other reason then you're playing him like a violin for your own benefit._

You don't reply to that.

You don't want to reply to that. And even if you did, you aren't sure what you'd say.

...When he puts it like that, you seem cold and wickedly cruel. You aren't, though. You're a genuine, caring guy, and this isn't some dastardly scheme. It's just. You're protecting your home, and he'll have fair game to protect his.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and your stomach may be churning right now, but it sure as hell isn't with guilt.

A light, breathy sigh escapes your lips as you tuck your knees up to your chest and bury your forehead in between them.

You're a prince. You constantly have servants waiting and doting on you and can get whatever you want with a word and snap of your fingers. You're unfamiliar with this..."waiting" business.

You really hate it.

Your head snaps up at a breakneck speed at the soft rustle of leaves, pulse spiking with your startle and the fine hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end. Instantly a thousand possibilities swarm your brain, cloud your head- what if it's not Jake, what if it's a patrol party oh fuck. You freeze up and hardly dare to _breathe,_ hoping that the dark is thick enough to shield you from view.

Your hand, muscle inch by agonizing muscle inching, creeps towards the dagger you have hidden in the folds of your trousers you keep on your just in case- but when you hear the familiarly frantic "Dirk! Dirk, palio, you there? Aw frozen fiddlesticks I'm so sorry!" and a thump of weight falling, you retract your hand and let out a breath in the reliving realization that you don't need it.

"The hell have you been?" you mutter through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to grind them of irritation. That was a terrible habit that Dave sought to get you out of years ago.

Your eyes adjust to the outline of a fluorescent yellow blob flailing around on the ground trying to get his footing. You know when you flip an insect on it's back and it thrashes about in a usually failed attempt to return to it's feet? The klutz was a mirror image of such described scene. Obviously he had rushed too fast to remember the gnarled root lodged in the ground. After tripping over it for nine times, you would've thought that he'd learn not to do that by now. "Sorry, sorry, late day today," he groans, managing to get to his hands and knees and spit the dirt in his mouth out with a disgusted hack. "Training has been positively brutal lately! If I were to roll up my sleeve I wouldn't be surprised to find my forearm morphing into all kinds of shades of blues and dirty blacks with the accumulation of contusions I've been rounding up lately."

You lean back on your palms. This was almost painful to look at. Your first instinct, of course, is to jump and offer him lessons on how to not almost die when fighting, but that'd be stupid. You're not going to waste energy strengthening the enemy. "That's too bad to hear," you reply, light on sympathy.

Jake has miraculously arranged himself in a sitting position- someone give the kid a medal- a pushes his seeing spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and middle, the glint of light reflecting off of them under the moon nearly hypnotizing. "Don't worry yourself too much, now, I remain- against all odds- contently capital. Well, I'll begin our unfortunately shortened time together with the customary inquiring if anything notable is happening with you."

You shrug nonchalantly, pondering what to tell him. "Nothing of interest. The old lady who lives next to us that I was telling you about has been breathing down my neck again." This is a referral to the Condense who's been barking and bitching at you on a more heightened schedule as of late, the passive-aggressive relationship between the head council member and you leaning more to one side then the other.

Goddamn, you hate that bitch of a fish.

The Heir gives a soft chuckle, leaning forward to stabilize himself on all fours. "Y'know, the more you blabber on about your family and life and all, the more the spark of my curiosity is kindled into a blazer of a fire- do you think maybe, one of these days, I could take a leisure on down and pop my head in to your adobe?"

You freeze up.

No.

Oh, God no. No, that would be a really bad thing to do.

…Then again, actually. Maybe. Maybe not, now that you're chewing on the idea.

"Sure, Jake. You can visit my place. On one condition." A beat of silence passes. "I get to visit yours."

The more you think about it the more brilliant it becomes.

You're the Prince of Derse and you've managed to make this dude think you're a lowly commoner of Prospit, so pulling one on him to make him believe you've taken him to your house shouldn't be that difficult. And if he returns the favor? And he sneaks you into Prospit Castle?

You aren't one to brag, but you kind of have brilliant moments sometimes.

You don't miss the way his eyes shoot open, the way he stumbles back and sputters. "Whoa! Whoa, uh, hey now. That's probably not the most eggheaded doctrine you could've concocted, man. I mean- I mean disguising myself and hitting the village is one thing, yes, but sneaking in a PEASANT to the CASTLE? That...that's quite another!"

Well, you're sitting here right now. So it's nothing you can't handle doing. "What?" you taunt. "Scared?"

"No! No, course not. It's just a bit..."

"Bit?"

"Hazardous."

"Genius. It's not like this whole thing is or anything."

He makes a soft whining noise in the back of his throat. "Yes, but this is pushing the limits of what I consider...comfortably dangerous."

Did he just say comfortably dangerous. ...Alright, fine. You decide to play the card you know best; Agitating him to your advantage. "Scared, jungle boy?" you mock (specifically targeted to his attatchment to wilderness as this) , folding your arms. "I thought you liked danger."

Well, that'd do it.

Instantly you could see his muscles tense and twitch as if coiling, flexing, rocking back onto the balls of his feet, emerald eyes narrowing. If there was one thing you learned about Jake English it was that he was easier to wind up then string around a stick- and you knew how to expertly press at each and every one of his buttons with masterful precision. "Mate," he hisses in a slower, deeper voice. "I. Bloody. _Love_. Danger."

"Do you," you muse in a tone so smug and doused in smarm that you knew he wouldn't absorb it as anything less then a challenge.

Perfect.

His face is now only centimeters away from yours. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin onto yours, his warm breath stirring at wisps of blonde. "You know it."

_This is strangely sexual._

_Shut up, Hal._

_Kiss already_.

_I'm going to snap you in half._

Nonetheless, you are fascinated by this little tango of who-comes-out-on-top you had both unintentionally sparked. It really was less about getting you into the castle, now, and more about how far he would go before he snaps.

Statistically speaking, it would be useful in the future to know the exact breaking point and limits of the Heir.

But mostly just fun.

"I'm not impressed," you reply in a voice dangerously close to a sultry purr, a coy smirk twisting your lips as you slink back, the tips of his ears flaming with anger.

"What? 'Not impressed'? Excuse you, I am a fearless, thrill-seeking ROYAL OF PROS-!"

"Yeah, yeah, the lady of the vagina you popped out of was wearing a crown. Big whop."

He huffs. "HUGE whop, excuse you. You, sir-" He pauses to jab his finger into your ribs, repeating his action with every word afterwards. "-are playing a dangerous game."

Your eyebrow inches upwards. "Direct me to the 'dangerous' part, I'm not seeing it."

"THAT DOES IT!" With a cry, you are bowled over with a heaving slam of force then you were expecting, spine crunching as you are thrown back-first into the tightly compacted earth beneath you. Your glasses rattle on your face and you gasp as the air in your lungs quickly dissipates as it is compressed and forced out.

Ah. So that was his tipping point.

You pull back your arm and thrust it forward to give him a square knocking in the jaw. You hear him yell in pain and fall sideways off of you with the impact. You muttered swears under your breath and quickly shook out your hand because goddamn, his jawbone was lined in titanium or some shit.

But in battle, time can't be wasted worrying about your own injuries. Only focusing on inflicting more to your foe.

You blindly rise to your knees before pinning Jake quickly to the ground, muffling his sounds of protest by shoving your forearm across his mouth, which doubled as extra force to keep him down. You swing yourself up and over to hover above your panting and very worked up-

_Nice word choice._

_For fucks sake!_

-fisticuffs partner, staring down at him, chest heaving.

If only everyone back in the Kingdom of the Moon could see you now. They'd be so, so proud.

The highest ranking male in all the land was now helpless beneath you. Even the Queen, the Condense, Dualscar, they would all marvel at-

==> Dirk: Get too caught up in your own cockiness to notice you are being violently thrown off.

Ouch.

Back to square one.

Although this time neither one of you is really dominating the other-

_Why? Do you prefer it up the ass or all up in his, Dirk?_

_Hal!_

-in the entangled tumble you two are fiercely engaged in, violent and exhilarating. Crackles pop in the background as the pair of you roll around on the forest floor over twigs, ferns clinging to your clothing, nails raking down your sides as your blood sears in your veins.

Your hands are at the fronts of each other's shirts and yanking, glasses clanking, heartbeats racing each other as your chests pressed together, electrifying hazes sweeping your senses, flushed skin against flushed skin as your lips collide roughly, his fingernails digging into your palm and.

Oh. Wait.

The kissing was unintentional.

Shit you were kissing. Your skulls knocked together and your foreheads bonked and your lips are touching, now. Your eyes are both enormous and yet neither of you really makes the move to pull away for fear of disturbing or startling the other.

A million thoughts flood every clear one in your body, far too rapid to pick out most individually. One; it wasn't gross. It wasn't full of saliva or teeth but it was simply lips against lips, soft and accidental and warm.

Two; you've experienced worse things in your life.

Three; holy shit, Dirk, get a fucking grip. Now is a really bad time to be macking on the King-to-be of Prospit.

Four; wow, the softness of a baby's butt ain't got nothing on his hair. Or his cheeks. The black strands beneath your fingertips were like threads of satin even clumped with moss, the olive skin your knuckles brush smooth and warm. He had a handful of dark brown freckles sprinkled over his cheekbones, which you never noticed before. It was endearing, if physical features could be.

...But then you remember that you're currently in the process of giving your first kiss to your sworn enemy and get a hold of yourself.

You push yourself off him, slapping a hand over your mouth once you're sitting, skin burning. Jake was still splayed on the ground, stricken and dazed. Oh God. In an instant you're scrubbing the skin off your lips with the ferocity you are wiping your mouth with. You kissed a Prospit. You were going to be impure for a year.

Jake is still lying down, making breathless, stunned whines. Your eyes dart to the sky, swearing as you spot the sky beginning to lighten from the safe cover of blackness. His lateness threw a kink in your schedule. You needed to hustle your ass back to Derse before anyone woke up.

"I. Uh. Gotta go. Bye," you sputter awkwardly, climbing to your feet and taking off without another word, not being able to stomach looking back at him.

You skitter through the forest, hands still shaking and breath hitching with the leftover adrenaline your veins were trying to flush out. You're disjointed now, nearly repeating the idiot's mistakes and run into trees in your mad dash.

 _Hey._ You grit your teeth at the voice, not wanting to hear his snark right now. _That might not have been a bad thing. Consider this: who do adults trust more? Their best friend or spouse?_

_I'll save my kingdom but I'm not going to marry him to do so._

Hal lets out an audible sigh. _You kissed. Couples kiss. Think about it- so far, in the gaining his trust area, we're pretty prosperous as his friend right now. But let's say we play a wild card- making him think that you like him._

Fuck no. _We're fine as it is._

_No, we're not. You've known him for nearing two months know and he hasn't said a peep of information. Obviously platonic isn't strong enough._

You duck under a canopy of ferns, breathing out through your nose, jaw clenched. The ferns marked an edge of the border. You would be home in a couple minutes. _He hasn't said anything because I haven't asked. I don't want to rush it, he'll get suspicious._

 _Have you not read books? Look- the villain always tricks the hero into giving the goods by manipulating_ _romantical_ _affections. Not saying you're a bad guy, I'm just stating facts here. I'm glasses, anyway. What moral judgment do I have._

You are now tearing off your yellow cloak and shoving it into the hollow of your tree, swapping it for pulling out your violet cape. _Life isn't a piece of fiction. If it was, I'd be guaranteed a happy ending and I'd have a lot less to worry about. Look, even if I did decide to risk messing up the relationship I've been busting my ass at lying my way into making this past month and a half, I wouldn't know what to do. I don't do romance. And I don't think I could fake it for this long._

_You could try. You're willing to do whatever it is to succeed here, right?_

You don't respond to that. You're too busy swapping your clothes and pulling on your shoes, throwing the leaves back into the hollow to cover your tracks. You just want to get back and sleep. You're looking forward to being back in your chamber and able to take off your shades for slumber. You don't want to talk to him anymore tonight.

_...Right?_

* * *

==> Be Jake.

You are now the boy lying down on the forest floor, eyes huge, unmoving.

You kissed Dirk. Dirk kissed you. Okay, whichever, but your lips were against each other for a couple seconds and that's all that matters.

Cripes.

There's a hot fluttering in your stomach, and your lips are positively tingling. You haven't felt this way since Jane accidentally elbowed you in the mouth but then kissed your forehead in apology.

You had always assumed that Jane would be your first kiss. And in a way, she still could be- that was an accidental happening, so maybe it didn't count.

And yet you are shocked to find you almost want it to.

That was...nice. Really nice. You loved Dirk to pieces as a chum, but never would you thought that you would...

You figure that you need to look at the information before you jump to anything.

Dirk and you have chemistry, that was obvious. You and the peasant are perfectly polar to one another, compliments. He understands you, he listens when you speak. He came just when you needed him, and whenever you imagined your perfect partner, it was always a female with pretty much every quality of Dirk's.

Though, it makes you stop and consider...do they HAVE to be female? Is that really THAT important?

If you find the person destined to be your other half, how should mammaries or no mammaries matter?

Sparks were flying tonight and you felt them. The way his lips curled when he taunted you, the way your pulse soared to heavenly heights when he had you pinned and you kissed, quick and forbidden the act. He had sprinted off, sounding apologetic and embarrassed, but you wouldn't mind that happening again. No, you want that to happen again. Why do you want it to happen again?

Oh, good Lord, are you in for it now.

Your name is Jake English.

And you think you have it bad for Dirk Strider.

* * *

==> Be the Knight of Dark.

There's a confused boy who we haven't been yet, who doesn't yet realize how much he doesn't know.

The other prince, the younger. The knight.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're very, very good at picking up on small details. Like the blades of grass in your brother's hair that no one else seemed to notice the next morning.

You keep your mouth shut, but an itching suspicion begging to be let out arises.

That type of grass doesn't grow in Derse.

 

* * *

[ _Your head is spinning, spinning, spinning and it's so, so wonderful._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tO8ZzZdGUr8)


	8. ==> Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All you have to do is not say a word.  
> If you're silent, you're safe.

==> Weeks in the future... 

* * *

==> Jake: Get ready for your date. 

It's not a date! 

...Okay, it's kind of a date. 

You've been leaning over a bowl of water for the past twenty minutes or so, checking your tongue in your reflection and dipping your hands into the liquid until they were damp, then proceeding to run your slickened and wet fingers through your noir tresses in an attempt to tame them to look more presentable. 

It doesn't work. It hasn't since childhood. The front just springs back to tuft upwards as always, leaving you to sigh of frustration. Would it be too much to ask for your hair to just...fall flat and smooth for once?  

You hold your palm to your mouth, exhaling airily onto it and sniffing. Okay, okay your breath was okay, you were good. 

You've turned to making faces into the bowl, observing how your face scrunched up and twisted at different emotions, silently noting the attractive and unattractiveness of each. Last thing you wanted to do was wink and look like you were having a muscle spasm or something like that. 

"Hey!" you find yourself saying, giving a grin to the mirrored surface, closing one eye, clicking your teeth and holding your pointer fingers and thumbs out in a hand gesture that vaguely resembles your pistols. Yeah. You kind of like it. "Looking positively pulchritudinous in the low light, if I may say. And _sizzling_! Uh, you, I mean, not this night. Erm- no, not literally, that would...be worrisome, and... Ugh. No." You give a frustrated huff and strike down on the water with a few fingertips, cringing as it splashed back angrily right at you. You puff out your cheeks and slowly let the captured inhale leak out, tapping your foot. You've been feverishly trying to whip up quality compliments the whole day, but find yourself tripping on your tongue on whatever bullshit was coming out of your mouth at every attempt.  

To calm yourself, you snatch a few of the mint leaves you had collected and stuff them in your mouth, chewing up the herbs as you smack yourself upside the head in your mind. It was an excellent breath freshener, and rather soothing as well. You were really going all out for this- you had ever rubbed the peels of oranges across your forearms to improve and sweeten your scent. And you had snuck out the most formal outfit you could find- your page garb, which you still weren't exactly _supposed_ to wear outside of ceremonies, but fuck it. 

You look good in this, if you could say so yourself. 

The close-fitting yellow fabric with the pearl lined, ruffled on the shoulders, short golden jacket atop it, soft material that formed your hood bunching around your neck and flowing down your back as a little cape. The pale honey cravat tucking into the jacket, your short trousers of matching color with the orange sash around your waist. And your absolutely favorite part of the outfit- the silvery, stylized wings stitched onto your back, viewed if the cape was drawn aside. This was to represent your pageship- as your duty was to be the ruler's faithful companion. Right-hand man. The monarch's _guardian angel_.  

Wiping your hand dry on your legs, you pull them into gloves, flexing your fingers a little.  

Were you overdoing it, you wonder? 

Quickly glancing up, you realize that there's no time to change now. It's time! Breathing in steadily, and out shakily, you dash over to the door- but draw back when realizing that, for this one special occasion, it was too risky. If you were caught wandering in your regular night robes or daytime wear, you could explain. Sleepwalking was a favorite answer. 

But not your page suit. You had to snatch this from the Queen's waiting chamber as it is.  

So, you have to take a far, far less desirable route- and five minutes later, you are shaking like a leaf while dangling from your balcony, your hold only assured by a couple shaky, sore, bloodless fingertips. Breathing in panicked, shallow gasps, you stare down at the next balcony jutting out about five feet below the tip of your toes- and below that, the ground. You are utterly terrified, and only hoped that this was going to be as incredible as you imagined it being. 

With a prayer and screech escaping your lips, you lift your fingers and ohgodyou'refallingyou'regoingtodieyou'redeadyou'redead- you're grabbing onto the edge of the next one. Forearms battered, every nerve tore open, and feeling like you were about to piss yourself, but alive.  

 You were just looking down again to plan how this was going to happen. Of course, you slipped and end up coughing as your back slams against the earth before you have time to breathe in- which is extra painful. 

So you're dazed, now. Dazed, head rattling, and still feeling like you are going to piss yourself, but alive. 

==> Time skip of about thirty minutes of the Page of Prospit bumping into every tree on the land and then some. 

You have made it! In one piece, there must be a god out there somewhere! 

Still panting like Bec in summertime, you stumble out to the forest-encircled, moss-floored clearing you have found to love so much, roll a medium sized rock over and sit down, knees bent with your elbows propped on them to cradle your chin in, smiling of excitement. 

Your heart is pulsating uncontrollably in your chest, and you welcome it. Your date shouldn't be too long. You wonder if your date is on their way now. 

* * *

==> Dirk: Survive this fucking meeting. 

You must not shove your fist in the Condesce's mouth. You must not shove your fist in the Condesce's mouth. You must not shove your fist in the Condesce's mouth. You must not shove your fist in the Condesce's mouth. 

You are breathing in shallow gasps, eyes narrowed, chewing intensively at the leather of the bottom of your gloves to keep yourself from yelling at the hag to shut the fuck up already. 

As always, Queen Rapunzel's Evil Twin was leaning back in her chair, ankles crossed and propped on the mahogany table, blabbering on and on about how many Prospits she had killed, how they begged her for mercy, how she ran them through with her trident and looted their pockets afterwards. A quick recounting of a single tale would've been fine, but not when she has been bragging and bragging for practically the entirety of this meeting, not stopping to let others speak a word since. And the one time you DID try to change the topic on to more productive matters, you were only met with a "Shut it, squirt, I'm talkin'." and continuation of her story. 

The bitch needed to learn her place. Only one of you was the Prince of Derse, and it sure as fucking hell wasn't her. 

You sigh as stack your fists atop each other, resting your chin on them miserably. The Disciple was listening intently (was she taking NOTES?), Dualscar was sitting up completely straight- probably too scared to object-, Darkleer was busying himself by sharpening his arrowheads against a chunk of flint he snatched up, and the Handmaid was scratching into the table with her fingernails out of boredom. (...Satanic symbols? On the table? Really?) You could hear the Psiioniic outside the door yelling in frustration, his response thuds and thumps and a ding of a bell. None of you moved a muscle in alarm or question. It was his turn to be on Felt duty- making sure the rascals that happened to be the Queen's personal entourage didn't burn down a turret unattended while you were all at the conference. 

You've been there, done that, and it ain't pretty. 

"...And another time I almost krilled that lil' son of a bitch Heir, too. Cuppa inches away from tine number two piercin' right through his heart." Jake? You lift your head to glance at her, interest sparked for once.  "He begs like a motherglubber. Honestly, dude was so pathetic it made me sick. He's just a prawny little guppy though. Like a fishbone with the skin reattached. Ain't nofin to worry aboat. When we crush the Sunshine Skipadeedoodahs, I'mma stab that suckah somethin' fierce." 

She spoke like she, curiously, had predefined plans to attack Prospit. "When?" you echo. "You're acting like it's already an absolute that we're going to launch some sort aggression towards them, other than what we do when we run into them on patrols. We've discussed that it's not a good idea. You're letting your bloodlust overrun your common sense, because you're desperate for belligerence." Your eyebrows quirk down. "And let me remind you- you're a council member. Nothing you say is a final. I have more power than you, and for good reason, too." 

Her face twists in irritation as she turns to you for speaking. "You think we just gonna sit with our fins up our asses forever, shrimp? If we don't shark doin' somefin sooner or whaler, those yellow whores are gonna take advantage of it. An' so help me cod if you use your pretentfish princely advantages to try to avoid it and make fronds- because you get squirmy everytime I talk aboat it- I'm going to sea to it that I kick your keester so hard your grandcrabby is gonna feel it. Sea, you're just some larvae born wearin' a tiara and pantaloons, and you have this precofish shtick you got going for you that's foolin' everyone 'cept me. I had to work my bass off to be here, unlike you. But, of course, Her Majesty is gonna take her presh lil' tadpole's word over mine." Her eyes narrow to piercing fushia slits, the blood rushing through your veins pulsing with contained fury. "So you better not fuck it up." 

You must not shove your fist through the Condesce's skull. You must not shove your fist through the Condesce's skull. You must not shove your fist through the Condesce's skull. You must not shove your fist through the Condesce's skull. Your vision was tinging maroon with unadultered anger she has set aflame in you. It was true that you had been reluctant to the notion of full out battle in the past when it was mention, but not for no reason.  

Prospit had killed Lady Lalonde and harmed numerous others, and that was just in your lifespan. They weren't as weak as everyone in your kingdom fancied thinking the were. You wouldn't hesitate for a fleeting moment to kill one of those bastards if you got the chance (Jake didn't count. You needed him in a greater scheme.) but you weren't going to risk anyone charging headfirst into blind combat. 

Well, not until now. But they didn't need to know that yet. 

"You know, if I was some retarded little half-brain, no matter of my lineage, the Queen wouldn't listen to me anyway," you spit in disgust. "Because newsflash, she actually knows what she's fucking doing. Do you? You don't have much interest past money and homicide and yourself. Yes, we can attack Prospit, but you don't have any information to base your battle on. Listen, they have these things called guns, where they can point it at you from fifty feet away and pull a-" 

"How do you know that?" A soft, feminine voice, rolling on a purr but punctuated with the rising infliction of inquisition reaches you. You slowly look up into wide olive green eyes. 

Shit.  

You purse your lips in anxiety, growing rapidly uncomfortable as you feel a burning indigo gaze rise to bear into you, a rusted scarlet, diluted violet- and a glowering fuchsia. 

All patiently awaiting explanation to your knowledge only spoken within Prospit walls. 

...Alright. You just had to calmly formulate a logical, perfectly believable response. You were good at that. 

==> Book it like hell out of there. 

Just not under pressure. 

Stupidly, you found yourself sprinting from the chamber, blindly hustling down the hall, crossing your forearms afront your face in fearful anticipation of the inevitable collision... 

...That would...follow. 

Except, no one was there that you could see.  

Who knows how far past, but you skimmed to a gradual stop in some corridor, lowering your limbs to investigate your shockingly solitary surroundings. Where is everyone? The only time period when it's so utterly empty like this is night time. 

Oh, for God's- duh, of COURSE it's night, the meeting began at twilight. And fuck you over sideways, there was probably a guy with a yellow tunic- crescent emblazed in the center, ringed by milky precious stones, belt around his waist and chainmail beneath it, if he was running from training again, sitting down on the ground, stupidly looking around waiting for you because you were late. 

==> Continue your dash right out the door. 

You revert to your pace, fingertips stretching to run along the walls as your guide in the dark, thumb roving over the smooth sheen of silk- aha. The banners on either side of the entrance of the castle. 

Rolling back your shoulders and windmilling your arms to stretch them, preparing to knock out whatever poor suckers were on guard duty tonight, you press your back against the wall, barely breathing as your digits find the wooden door and brass locks running down along one edge of it. Click, click, slide, and you were good to go. 

You bite down onto your bottom lip as you tentatively give a tiny push to one side, cringing at the creak you were received with and shuddering as a rush of a cool wind licks down your spine and kisses your nape.  

Eventually, inch by inch, you get it open to a crevice you can slip through, if you suck in your stomach to a nearly concave curve. You let out the sharply inhaled gasp again, leaning back against the frame and eyes lulling closed in relief. 

You don't have time to draw your dagger before you are crying out of alarm, rolling from pressing your spine to the door to your stomach instead. A startling _thump_ and the air gust of movement lands just inches from your left ear, your glasses rattling. Blind panic sets in, more than you can help. Only one clear thought in that split second, deriving from your genetically encoded flight-or-fight instinct, is able to formulate itself enough for you to register it. _You are under attack._  

Another crack explodes frighteningly near your right hip, enough for you to feel the brush of whatever it was that was striking you. You curse at your eyes not being adjusted enough yet to make out what was trying to inflict harm upon you. Which could be a serious problem. Mind whirring in impossibly quick calculations of the possible spots you could be hit next, you duck just in time to avoid a hit where your shoulder would be.  

That time, you hear a distinctive grunt of pain as it meets with solid wood instead of you. So this is a person attacking you probably bare-handed, weaponless, and that was most likely their fist. However, you've been wrong before. 

Using what little you can recollect in your supercharged state of primitive "stay alive", icy cold drops of adrenaline slipping down your veins, you lash out and kick forward from your squat, pleased to feel you had hit something- a leg. 

Another cry of physical affliction is successfully coaxed, followed by a loud thwack of impact. Good, you had knocked your opponent off their feet and landed them on the ground. 

Wasting not another precious second, you leap forward, jumping atop where you're pretty sure the outline of your assaulter lays, and by the body heat you are met with, your suspicions can be confirmed. 

Very good now, you have them pinned. Which isn't very hard, really, you can tell their build is similar to yours. Slim but pretty toned, so you know where to put down pressure. 

...And oddly, they know exactly where to do the same back. You're a bit more than surprised when one of the wrists slips free. You're a little past startled when the escaped hand hooks it's fingers around the inside of your neckhole, pulling you down as they rear back. 

And you're in a lot more pain than you anticipated as you are sharply yanked for the elbow the slam straight into your sternum- and man, does it hurt like a bitch. 

You produce a strange half-wheezing sort of sound as you feel the air being forced from your lungs, grip weakening drastically at the affliction of breath being drawn from your body, hacking at the collision. This is instantly used against you. You feel nimble digits clench in coercion around one of your wrists, a rigid iciness beginning to seep into your fingers as the circulation is cut off, and your hand is helpless. 

Wait. Wait, something was wrong here, something is really, really fucking wrong other than the fact that you are being attacked and it made the fact that you are being assaulted all the more terrifying. Because you knew that exact trick. You _invented_ it. 

And only one other person in the universe knows it exactly as you do. 

With a foot digging into your dread-filled stomach, you are violently kicked off, heaved to the ground. And with the sickening residue coating the roof of your mouth strengthening by the second, you are pegged to the hard compacted earth awaiting your return once more, spine giving a painful jolt, making you cringe and wince. A weight practically the same as yours hovering above you prevents you from returning to your feet. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your glasses are wildly askew- miraculously not snapped in half- but you don't need to see anymore. All you need is answers. 

Letting out a prelude of a scratchy cough, you tip your chin up, daring to crack open one eye. "Dave?" 

Eyewear equally crooked but gaze burning with unrivaled distress, you are met to a pair of carmine ones burning right through your sockets. 

 "Where the fuck are you going?"  

* * *

==> Be the chaotically choleric brother. 

You...alright, you hadn't planned on attacking him, that part kind of just happened. 

You were mad! So without even thinking about it, you threw a punch, sure! He dodged (thank god, you would've been pissed with yourself if you actually inflicted genuine injury to your brother), and...you had all intentions on stopping, but you got scared, edged on by him striking back. And before you could regain control of the situation the two of you were clawing at each other in an impetuously malicious tussle, you- for once- winding up on top. 

But as for why you were standing outside the castle doors, waiting for Dirk, and (more accidentally than not) beating the shit out of him, you suppose, is the real question here. 

Your name is Dave Strider, and you and your older brother, Dirk, have been joined at the hip since before either of you could remember. The pair of parentless princes, you relied on each other for everything. He trained you, you trained him. And god help the poor soul who tried to separate you two. 

You weren't just brothers. You were each other's missing half.  

Well. You thought you were, anyway. Up until about a month ago. That's when it started.  

That's when you noticed (how had no one else?) how Dirk would go to bed clean and walk out of his chamber in the morning with dirt smudged on his neck and swollen lips. It's when you noticed how he was awfully groggish in dawn, when you knew for a fact he was a morning person. It's when you noticed- most of all- that, during the night, he wasn't in bed at all. 

You would watch him go to his chamber for sleep, just as the rest of you. You would creep out to pop your head in an hour or so later, met with a royal bedroom missing it's prince with the sheets cold to the touch, and yet there he would be in the morning, walking back out of his room, hair messy enough to pass for bedhead. But when he wasn't in bed all night, that obviously wasn't the fucking case. 

And in all honesty, not knowing burnt on a couple different levels. 

He was no stranger to sneaking out, you knew that yourself, and taking a midnight stroll wasn't out of the ordinary for your older brother. ...But he always invited you. 

If he had a matter so pressingly urgent that he couldn't miss it for a night of rest for an entire month, then it should be enough to tell you what he was lugging his ass out of bed to go do. 

And since when did he keep secrets from you? 

You realize how pathetically clingy you sound, how desperate you come off as to know every single detail of his life. And maybe you are. 

But neither of you ever had a problem with spilling anything to his brother. Keeping track of every detail of Dirk's life was all you'd ever known. 

So naturally, you were acting on impulse to investigate. 

Last night, you wore yourself down pulling an all-fucking-nighter, camping under your cloak just inside the lip of your doorway, holding your breath as you saw- watched, not heard- Dirk creep out of his room and down the hall. And through your hours and hours of waiting, you never once saw him come back up. 

Show-offy little shit, the dude must have been climbing in his window. 

So, brimming with anger, you had camped yourself outside the doors to the castle, waiting for him to follow suit- and once he came out and you had him down red-handed, you finally got to hiss at him what you had been dying to for weeks, what he hasn't been telling you, what you couldn't ask until you had him powerless caught in the act. "Where the fuck are you going?" 

You could read your brother like a book. Every tensing of his muscles beneath you, glasses awry to reveal disquieted amber irises flitting around apprehensively, seeking escape in a sickeningly desperate manner. He is looking everywhere and anywhere but you. He can't look you in the eye, and you are worried. "Get off, Dave." 

"Tell me where you're going. Where you've been going. Because you're never this clandestine over hopping out to the forest for the night. Especially if you've been doing it for at least a month without pause, now. ...If you have been going to the forest?" 

"This isn't your business," he mutters through gritted teeth at you, looking to his left and struggling to break free. You just adjust your position, shift your weight, and have him firmly down once more.  

Your eyes narrow. "Oh, wow, so great to see that we can still tell each other anything, bro. Look." You tighten your grip, trying not to wince when he does. You don't want to do this, and there's a small voice in your head to just let the guy off the hook and go do whatever it is he's doing, but you're perturbed and it's so deep-set within you, bubbling, boiling that you can't shake it. "You've been sneaking out for a couple weeks now, and you come back covered in dirt, speckled with some hella bruises...are you, like, I don't know, _training_ with someone? Have you been _fighting_ some, _fucking_ someone? Why is it so important that it has to be when we're all asleep and you have to be Mister Little Bo No-Peep?" 

He still won't look at you, and the burning in your stomach only worsens. "It's not relevant to you. Get out of my ass." 

"Oh, okay, so, showcasing worry is getting up in your ass." 

"Dave, god help me I love you, but you don't have to know _everything_. I'm not causing any harm to anyone. Look, if I thought you needed to know and that this would be yours to deal with, I would tell you. But I don't, and I haven't." 

You wonder if he's even listening to you, at all. You're trying to get the point that he's acting unbearably suspicious across when he just keeps recycling the same answer: it's okay, it's not important to you. And it rubs you in all the wrong ways. Like, your skin is getting chaffed from his words. You need aloe. And truth. You need the healing ointment of veracity to soothe the blisters of frustration, popping up all over your skin like baby rabbits in the middle of March because damn, do those fuckers _go at it_. 

==> Dave: Wonder where you were going with that metaphor. 

You drop it, because this is supposed to be serious, anyway. 

"Okay, but your sudden little sneaker spy mojo you got going on here kind of arises distrust. Even a complete package with the 'deny everything' sprinkled on top." You take in a breath and let it out in a sigh. "I won't tell anyone, if you really don't want me to. But of all people, I thought you could tell me. Right?"  

He's silent. And his absence of words completely unravels you, popping your seams, one by one. You are almost scared.  

And at last he speaks. "I can't, for reasons I'd rather not say. I can only hope that you respect my privacy and let me go, okay? Because..." You see his Adam's Apple bob as he swallows hard. "I'll have to force you to get off and stay back and I really, really don't want to do that. So, please, just get off." 

"Why can't you tell me?" 

"Dave. I'm not looking for a fight." 

"Neither am I. Why is this so goddamn urgent?" 

"Da-" 

" _Dirk._ " You are even angrier and even more hurt now. So you are yelling. "Where are you going?" And with this anger you have stupidly, stupidly removed your hands to grasp at the front of his shirt. 

Leaving his arms free. 

Before you have time to fully regret what you've done, you are flipped over and your wrists are gathered behind you and yanked, popping your shoulder blades and coaxing you to cry out in pain. You are pressed to the ground, making you grunt, your glasses flying off your face. You make a strangled noise of protest and go to fight back, throw a punch- and your breath catches when you find that you can't.  

Oh, that slimy motherfucker. 

You struggle violently but can't move much past the daggers driven through your sleeves and staked into the ground. Dirk is breathing heavily above you, frowning, and straightening back up, dusting off his hands and looking at you. "I'm...oh my god, I'm really, really sorry. Look, I'll let you go later, alright? I'm just...I've got to go. I'm sorry."  

Your eyes are large with a fear that you like to pretend you are immune to. But you were thrashing helplessly outside the castle doors, pinned by the brother that was getting ready to abandon you for who knows how long. You snap your head over to look at him, wildly shaking it. "No, no, no you can't just leave me here Dirk. This isn't cool, and it sure as hell isn't funny." He gives you a final, lingering stare, before turning and beginning to walk off down the path further into Dersian territory, causing you to raise your voice. "Dirk! Dirk, get back here, I'm sorry! Fuck, what am I going to do if...if Rose finds me? She'll have your ass for dinner! And not in the good way, she'll fry you and...!" The last tuft of blonde hair you've been tracking disappears behind a hill, deepened purple by night, and you practically scream. "Dirk! Let me go!" 

Your only reply is the faint howling of the wind, which swallows your voice and embraces you until you shiver to the bone. 

* * *

==> Dirk: Book it. You're late. 

Yeah, yeah, you know you're late, you don't need a reminder! 

Your arms are pumping and you're running at top speed, full-on sprint, smacking stray branches out of the way, fuck, you were supposed to be here like an hour and a half ago...!  

You pull your cloak closer so that it doesn't fly off, and burst through the final sheet of hanging moss dangling dry off a crooked hook of a tree, skidding into the small glade you and the Heir had founded, skimming over leaves trying to slow yourself down and bending forward to press your knuckled into the dirt, panting.  

Finally at a stand still, you tilt your head up at the shivering tanned boy before you, arms wrapped around himself, shaking who you had really left down. He was staring at you and fuck if those dazzling emerald irises weren't twisting your insides and shoving an overwhelming guilt down your throat for you to choke on. He looks so small and frightened, and your instincts have you actually, disgustingly _wanting_ to wrap him in your arms until he was warm and better.  

And that's just what you do. 

"Dir-?" 

"Oh my god, I'm so, so sorry." You've been apologizing a lot today, you notice. You hobble to him pull him close to you, nose burying itself in his hair and his fingers twist into the fabric of your clothes.  

 _As being literally another you, I do not wish to pour salt into what gashes you've opened yourself today, but I feel the need to bring this to light so you can assess what's happened, because you won't do it yourself. Y_ _ou've just put some_ _maaajor_ _distance between you and Dave- who, by the way, is still pinned down by your backup knives in front of the front gates- and made Jake wait here for who knows how long on your date night. You've only just began the next stage of the master plan- the "surprise romantic overture" wildcard, that is- and I advise you set your schedule straight as to not blow it. Dirk? Bro, are you even listening to me? ...How does that even feel good, oh my god. That looks absolutely disgusting and unsanitary. How eager are you to suck the Heir of_ _Prospit's_ _tongue?_  

You ignore him in favor of tipping Jake's chin up and crushing your mouth to his, wasting no time in deepening the sweet, chaste kiss by sucking in his bottom lips and running your tongue along it, taking in his little shivers that you know would follow. You feel like if you tried to talk, you'd either just spew some batshit bullshit of desperation or end up giving a slip of information, so you don't trust yourself to speak yet- and this is the best way you can think of right now to give him non-verbal comfort. By the way he eases and melts into you, eagerly leaning up for more, you figure that it's working. 

Ever since the first kiss- the accidental run-in while wrestling- you and Hal have been working on a ploy to pretend you kindled feelings for him, of which you found out he- luckily- genuinely returned. That made it so much easier, lessened any difficulties you could've encountered in guiding him into the staged enchantment. What Hal had said turned out to be right- Jake trusted you even more, even more. Because you were the charming stranger, forbidden, who swept him off his feet, to him. He gushes about you, rambles on about how your miracle of a relationship, yeah, yeah, that's nice. 

He's head over heels for you because he thinks that this is a cliché romance play, where the protagonist is bewitched by the one who will love them and care for them forever. Therefore he is putty is your ever manipulating hands more than ever. You keep letting him believe it. 

You know his taste as much as you've ever known anything by now. The tang of mint coats the back of your tongue, but past the coolness he is sweet. Sweet, and of earth and gunpowder and feels like fire, burning fire. You have memorized the ladder of his spine beneath your fingers. You know just how he'll react at every calculated movement of yours- how he'll hook an arm around your neck if you rest a hand on his hip, how he'll tilt his head exactly 49 degrees to the left if you slipped your tongue out to touch his (which was surprisingly pleasurable), how he'd let out small noises if you gave a gentle tug to the fine, soft, peach-fuzz follicles on the back of his neck.  

You don't mind this, really. It feels nice. 

And that's purely, completely it- for you, this is a purely physical show to put on. No emotions are involved. Nothing but another lie, building on deception after deception to get him right where you wanted him. 

And you were awfully, awfully close. 

The eyes of you and Jake both shut, you feel his hands unclench from the cloak and rove up your back to spread out on your shoulder blades as you awkwardly open and close your jaw against his. You really don't...know how to do this, but he returns the motion (just a clunkily as you, of course), so you guess it's alright.  

 _Dirk._  

 _What. Could this wait a sec?_  

 _You've been working at this for months now. Who knows how much longer you have? When are you going to start pressing him for information? That, reminder, is the whole purpose of this thing. You said you've been delaying as so it does not seem rushed, and I think that you're at a good spot now- it's been weeks and weeks, and not only are you his best friend but you've escalated to paramour-tier, my friend. Make your move._  

You pull away breathlessly, almost instantly hacking as soon as your lips parted. That was attractive.  

It sends Jake into a fit of laughter, bending over and clutching his stomach. You are torn between calling out that he's an asshole or chuckling right along with him. 

You do the latter.  

You plop yourself down next to where he was on all fours completely cracking up, criss-crossing your legs and smiling gently at him until he settles down. When he's breathing normally once more, but still smiling like the goofball he is, he crawls over and props himself right in the dip made by your legs and rubbing his head under your chin. Damn, he was a touchy-feely little motherfucker.  

The fluffy black hairs tickle your neck, and you throw your arms around his shoulders, planting a gentle kiss to his crown. Neither of you speak, each afraid of breaking the beautiful serenity you are basking in. Your thumb strokes over his jaw, and he relaxes.  

You hate to admit that you're frowning, looking down at him because the longer you do this the longer you find yourself wanting to procrastinate on the task you had set out to accomplish more and more. Because what you have with him now is simple, peaceful, and trying to ask him about the war would be a chore. It'd disrupt things. 

 _Dirk, dude. We. NEED. To do this. Well, YOU need to do this. I already would have. But who's going to talk to a pair of glasses?_  

You sigh into his locks, closing your eyes. _I know. I know. I'll get to it soon._  

 _When?_  

You look down once more at the smiling boy in your arms, pressed against you, nuzzling softly against your collarbone like there would never be another thing wrong in the world again and for as much as you hate all Prospits, it hurts. 

But he's right. 

You swallow hard. 

 _Tomorrow._  

 

* * *

[ _The kisses are of heart, wonder and breathless affection, but also are they artifical ploys, a tactic. And yet, both are smiling._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99GyFmnH59s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Guess who's back, at long last! [muffled Just Lose It in background]  
> So here's the next chapter. As if this needs more goddamn subplots, but I love the Striders too much. I'm sorry.  
> Warning: I think I'll have to bump up the rating, as the next two chapter will include rather adult situations, which will be as plot-relevant as I can make them.  
> Anyway. Thank you all very, very much for 90 kudos, I'm extremely flattered! I'll have the next chapter up ASAP. But for now, enjoy.


	9. ==> Hush, Hush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much pain and how much pleasure can you take before a confession?

==> Dave: Escape.

You're drenched in your own clammy sweat and every muscle in your body aches. You've been bucking your hips like a corner-standing lady on duty for the past hour or so, heart throbbing painfully against your sternum, your chest rising and falling with the constrictingly cold air you've been sucking in. You realize that the description given is off-putting, but you haven't been entertaining yourself on whatever nastiness your mind can whip up for the past who knows how long.

You've been utilizing every part of your body that you can to escape from your bindings of daggers through your sleeves, lodged deep inches into tightly compacted dirt.

With every jerk of your lower body, they would loosen, just a bit. However, this was easier said than done, as it was an exhausting amount of effort for such a small result. The chilliness of the air left even your bones shivering, goosebumps covering you everywhere and grating against the fabric of your clothing and chainmail they were driven through.

But you’re going to get out. If it kills you, you’re going to get out. And once you do, you’re going to get answers.

If Dirk won’t talk, you’ll have to find out yourself.

* * *

==> Be Jake.

For every minute that you spent checking your tongue in your reflection yesterday, you've spent about three today.

You had kept true to your promise from a month or so ago- and tonight, because it was so cold out, Dirk is coming to your chamber! And...you're actually quite nervous.

Your romantical other (you smile at the mention) had reassured you over and over that it would be fine. You had, of course, protested like the Dickens, but he pointed out that you either freeze your asses off in the biting briskness of nighttime in the woods or you can go back to your dwelling for a night or two. He had a point, although you were- still are, really- incredibly uneasy about it. If found out, they'd have Dirk under gunpoint in a matter of seconds, a peasant violating royal grounds. And you wouldn't be far behind for assisting him in doing so. You tried to suggest that you go to his house instead, but you were shot down with an all-too-quick no. You made attempts at reasoning with him, pointing out how much safer things would be if you went into the village as opposed to Dirk coming into the castle, but he vigorously argued otherwise, saying that you couldn't do that.

It struck you as odd that he was so wound up at nothing but a pitched idea of you going to his villa, but you figured he had valid reason, even if he didn't feel comfortable telling you. You already know that he doesn't like talking about his personal life, so you weren't going to push it.

Nonetheless, you've been fretting like nuts, and cleaning on hyperdrive speed so stupidly fast it was barely effective. Sure, the floor was mostly clear, but open your wardrobe and you'll be pelted by the pistols and ammunition you shoved in there to make room. Thank god you didn't have training today- John was away at meetings, and Jade was with him, this time.

You've been seeing them even _less_ lately, although understandably. The date of announcing the first battle was growing nearer, whenever it was going to be. Kingdom defense has been on the double, with reports from nightly patrols of seeing a Dersite- too briefly for identification- snooping around the forested borders after sundown, which gives you the chills to think about. You and Dirk would've been in the woods at around the same time, if not just arriving, as the purple filthball. What if the Dersite saw you two?

At least you didn't have a run-in. That would've been _awful_.

Anyway, your cousins have been fast at work with getting this all set up, although you haven't any new information on the subject since that one night a month or so ago. To be honest, John didn't even tell you that much- no dates were final, nor plans or anything. All that really got relayed to you was that there was indeed going to be a move of belligerence towards the enemy monarchy that murdered your grandmother in... _around_ two or three months from now, and it was going to happen at midday, when the sun is at it's highest.

No updates have been fed to you since, nor permission to tell anyone else, which was extraordinarily frustrating. You had to scrap a few drafts of letters to Jane because you let slip some things that you weren't supposed to, but you did a crummy job of it and judging by her most recent letter back to you, she's still suspicious anyway.

You feel terrible about not replying to her since, but you don't know what to say. It's probably because of the subconscious guilt complex you've got going on. You've been head over heels for her and telling her that when you were older, you'd get married forever and ever since you could remember. And now, in her absence of a few months versus a lifetime of being in love, you've pushed her to the very back of your mind in favor of a forbidden romance with a dashing enigma.

So you feel guilt whenever you think about Jane because you're with Dirk now. And when Jane returns, you'd feel guilt whenever you're with Dirk because you are supposed to be with Jane and you liked her first. It's a mess.

But, splashing a cupped handful of water onto your face and shaking your head wildly, you decided to stop dwelling on the beautiful, sweet, perfect dame that...ahem. You need to stop dwelling on Jane. Dirk's going to be here any moment, and it'll be great!

Because at the end of the day, you really like Dirk. A lot.

And what a blessing it was when he held you close and whispered that he felt the same way.

You are now sitting on your bed, twiddling your thumbs, glancing out your window every couple of seconds. It is dark enough for his arrival now, which twists your insides into knots from giddiness and excitement, as it always does when you've gone to see him lately.

Your pulse leaps into your throat when you hear a _scritch_ _,_ _scritch_ _, scratch_ upon stone. You are instantly on your feet and running to the left window- left...window?- where the noise is coming from. Brushing yourself off one last time, you suck in a breath and pop your head out.

Sure enough, there he is. ...Dangling fifty feet above the ground, fingertips scrabbling at the inside of the sill, a sword lodged in a crack between the golden bricks about twenty feet below his feet.

He notices you staring down at him, eyes bulging from disbelief of what you were seeing. He tips his chin up, giving a slight nod in greeting. "Oh. Hey, your highness."

What species _is_ this guy?! He climbed up the side _without_ the balconies using nothing but a sword a couple yards below him (god knows how), he's clinging to your window above falling to certain death, and he's as calm as anyone's ever been. _Hey, your fucking highness, he said_.

"Great dick of Moby, Dirk, how the hell did you do that?" You know you're supposed to be quiet but you can't help but nearly yelling in utter disbelief. Your eyes MUST be betraying you. "The OTHER window has the ledges to climb up on!"

By the way he raises himself half an inch and then lowers himself again to suspend over the ground, you think he shrugs. "I don't really know, but in the greater scheme of things that's kind of unimportant. Help me up?"

When you lock your fingers around his wrists you nearly anticipate them falling straight through because you still can't wrap your mind around that your god-like peasant boyfriend scaled a fifty foot brick wall, silent as stillness, all by himself, and you're not sure how real this all is. He was a nutjob, honestly!

With a heavy grunt, you dig your heels into the ground and strain yourself trying to haul him up. You hear loose pebbles skitter down rock as he gets a footing on the wall, his hands slipping back to lock with yours. One last mighty heave and you had yanked Dirk in, half on top of you, your head and body slamming into the thin golden rug spanning the shadow of your windowsill.

You can't swallow the whimper from the hit, no. But you suppose it's lessened by the heart-flutteringly gentle and sweet brush of lips on your cheek, and the steady rhythm of fingertips through your hair. "Sorry about that, your highness."

"Oh for god's sake, just call me Jake." You let out a loving, breathy sigh and return a peck on the tip of his nose. Not that you actually minded either name, but Jake sounded more personal. Like you were...a person, and not just born to serve the king. You drew back and gave him a light knocking of your knuckles to his shoulder, a smile still upon your visage. "Shimmy up the actually practical half next go around, would you kindly? You gave me something of cardiac arrest there!"

"That wouldn't be nearly as fun. Hey, this bird's got skill that he's gotta show off."

"For a peasant, you're an awfully big show pony."

"Unfortunately, we're now bound by an ancient, unseen bond of mutual attraction which, when proclaimed- as it has been- creates a consensual connection of something akin to ownership, although I think loyalty would be a more accurate term because we're not that type of couple. So, upon entering this bathetic conjoinment of two, a subconscious pledge- if the actions are indeed laden with sincerity- is sworn to grant their benign faults exoneration, and-"

" _What?_ "

"I'm your show pony, Jake. So suck it up."

What a right real pain in the ass lexiconic showoff. You vocalize this in a tasteless insult that disappointed you deeply in it's delivery, leaving you wishing to grasp the words from the air and shove them back down your pipes. Dirk, however, doesn't let you down for a half second in his expertly worded retort shot back before you could blink regarding your hypocrisy. Oh, verbal spars were all fun and games to him, because he was just so damn good at them. Always had another coal to toss into the fire, even when you were scrambling on the ground, groping for two chunks of flint in an attempt to make even a spark.

Nonetheless, you try to regain your footing by offering him a blow that a peasant as him had no place talking down a royal. He replies with saying that he's pretty sure he's earned the right.

 _Oh_ , but that's far from wise, you say, inching closer to him, feathering your fingertips along his collarbone and carefully sitting down on your knees in front of him. He's sure he can handle it, with the lingering tingle of fingernails ghosting across the nape of your neck and circling the top of your spine. You're in line for the throne, you remind him, knees planting on either side of his thighs and sliding down to settle in his lap and dragging your knuckle along the inside of his jawbone. You've spent years in training and can have whatever you want at the snap of your fingers. You can take anything he can throw at you.

He is still before slipping into a coy smirk. Almost anything.

You figure it out a half second before you're flying, giving you time to kick out just before your is skull in smashing into solid rock. Red hot pain courses searing through your veins and you're swear you can feel your brain slam into your bone. Wrestling. Verbal spars were a downfall of yours, but physical was your game. You owned it. And woe to the peasant who tried to challenge you in your own kingdom.

Dirk tries to pounce on you, which was nothing short of a foolish move that you saw coming a mile away. Even with your skull rattling and every nerve ending on fire, you still had enough kick in you to grab the scruff of his shirt and yank him forwards to receive a mouthful of dusty fabric and stomach full of knuckles. He releases a choked rasp which alerts you that you had done something right, and you swing your weight around and stick the balls of your feet on the flanks of his waist, pressing your chest into his back as he gave satisfactory squirms beneath you. You only responded with a coy simper pressed into his hair.

But his thrashing was not without effect. You are jolted and bucked off, only to feel a body roll atop yours. You look up, a cheeky grin plastered onto your visage, daring him. His tongue darts out to run the tip along the bottom edge of his teeth. They are bleeding. And he is not smiling. He leans closer and all the playfulness is gone and you don't want to say it but it's scaring you. He hisses out five words to you, and he is not smiling and now you are not either.

"Tell me about the war."

Wait a minute.

Some inner alarm system blares and begins churning your stomach, a wildly flapping crimson flag of warning that there was something really, really wrong here. Your eyes widen and catch sight of your own rapidly paling skin in the dangerously close reflective triangles hovering above you, going rigid with the tensing of your tendons under his grip as your fists curled to indent blunt fingernails into your palm. Dirk was a peasant, and this was top-secret royal information.

Even more worrisome? You never mentioned the war. And he was waiting for you to say something.

You push a hard, dry gulp of air down your throat in a way that's almost painful. The tip of your tongue flicks out to nervously moisten your chapped lips. "Wh-what war?" He must be asking for information on a past battle, some papers you could pluck from the archives of the library. There was nothing else he could be talking about. _Nothing_.

You feel his chest tap against yours as his lungs swell with a silent breath in. "The upcoming showdown between Derse and Prospit."

A red hot heat begins to tingle over your body. Not a sweet, fuzzy glow, nor the euphoric warmth that encases you when your lips meet in heavenly osculation. This is pure discomfort, and it borderline stings. He wasn't supposed to know even that much. "I never mentioned anything of the sorts!"

"Yes you did." He replies quickly. Far too quickly.

...You rack your brain for recollections of you ever letting out a peep on that to him, but frustratingly enough, find nothing. You must've had to at some point, though. There's literally no other way that he'd know. Nuts, you broke your oath to secrecy- if Jade or John ever found out, they'd be terrifyingly cross with you. You feel awful for letting that slip. Its not that you don't trust Dirk- you do, with all your heart!- but it was against orders, double crossing your promise. And it was best not to say anything more than what you already did. "Apologies, mate. This is absolutely nothing personal, but it's not exactly a quarter pound of beeswax with your name on it. Although seriously, I never-"

"You mentioned something about a war once. A couple nights ago." No. No, you didn't. "Dude. This is important shit. I need to know."

"Why do you need to know?" Your throat is tight and you don't want to talk about this you just want to wrestle again.

He is quiet for an unnerving eternity of seconds before you see his jaw clench and words slip from his lips. "Two kingdoms might go to war," he replies in a harsh tone that has you cringing. "That's a pretty big deal." He shifts and lets out a hot, shallow exhale of air. "I'm worried, Jake," he begins, and the sincerity makes you squirm even further because you know guilt is soon to follow. "I'm worried for the kingdom. For my family." Your breath hitches as you feel the flat side of a bent finger gently tap underneath your chin and you look up as your pulse throbs in your throat. "For you."

You wish you could relax, you really do, and more than anything you wish you could just _tell him_. But you can't, and you can't, and whatever you _have_ told him you don't want to expand on. "Sorry, no-can-do, chap," you say, but the words come out as uneven and unsure. "Top secret. Besides, nothing's even final yet, so you're not missing much." You offer him laughter, as if trying to pass it off as no big deal. It doesn't work because it's forced and your face is still pinched with discomfort.

And for the longest while, neither of you moved.

Spoke.

_Breathed._

Slowly, you feel fingers unclasp from your wrists, and you feel ten pounds of pressure lift from your chest in utter relief. Good. Maybe you can pretend this didn't happen. It could be that it never happened. You could make it so that this never happened.

Dirk stands up, leaving you taking in the breath you didn't know you were holding. You furiously rub at the skin of your wrists where it was chafed, and you hear rustling as Dirk sits upon your mattress. You look up to meet what is assumed to be his eyes. "Okay." His voice is hesitant but firm. "...You wanna sit by me?"

Yes. You would. You follow suit and pop up, bouncing onto the bed next to him and crossing your legs to rest your fists in the space created. You're staring down at them, still and shuddering in the awkwardness between you two. You feel awful, now, really. And you feel like the poor guy deserves more of an explanation. "Sure. ...Well. Um...Dirk, it's not that I don't trust you- it's just...you know. Private matters." You swallow hard. "I hope this isn't a conjecture in our relationship."

There.

You said it.

And then you're ululating because you're slammed into the bed again, pinned down by his body and the leather of his gloves on your forearms holding you down. You thrash out of panic but stop when you feel his warm breath fan over your lips. "Jake. Jake, calm down. Hey, look at me, look at me, calm down." You look up and swallow hard. "Good. Okay. ...I want to try something. I won't hurt you or anything."

"What? Like what?"

He sucks in a breath. "Just...trust me, alright?"

That is really and truly not the answer you are looking for. Nonetheless, you _do_ trust him, so you make a tiny noise of agreement to showcase consent from the back of your throat, nodding.

The world slows down and your heart pounds wild fists against your ribcage as you see the glow of Dirk's honey hair descend to just beneath your chin, tilted at just an angle that he's not eyelevel with your collarbone but you can still feel the tickle of the wisps against the flesh. You're not sure what he's doing until you momentarily forget how to breathe because he has his lips on your neck and you gasp and arch up what was he doing. You want to squirm but you go slack under his hot mouth suddenly sliding open down your throat and there are sparks simmering in your skin. It tickles but it feels good, so good. Your rationality of course is in wild protest and you want to say something, but you can't, not past the most ungentlemanly noises you've ever had the displeasure of hearing he's coaxing from your own vocal cords. Then you feel the velvet of his tongue whisk over the flushed flesh to get a taste of the salt of your skin and something in you unravels. It's leaving a trail of stars up your jugular, quietly taking in your reactions and the way your fingers are gripping the sheets beneath them. Your sensitive nerves are quivering between the vibrations of soft chuckles resonating up to knock around in your skull and his warm, moist breath lapping at and clinging to your skin. You wanted more of this, of the fire in your stomach and haze in your head, so if he just...

"Tell me about the war." And you panicked again.

You don't like the fact that he knows and you _hate_ the fact that he's pressing you, even after he said he'd stop and your eyes fly open. "No!" Perhaps you need to be more firm. "No, I already told you, I- ah!" He cuts you off mid-sentence by giving a quick bite to the conjecture of your neck and shoulder and you find yourself yelping and your hands swiftly flying up to cling to his cloak.

But all too soon is he sitting back. And he reaches out to you silently. And your heartbeat spikes and you grab his wrist before he can reach the buttons of your nightshirt, you're so hopelessly confused and feel like everything is happening at once. "Wh-what the hell are you doing?"

Dirk is quiet for a beat, and you can see him rubbing the pads of his forefinger, middle finger and thumb together on the hand not in yours like he always does when he's anxious. "Do you want me to stop?"

You...you weren't sure, but he wasn't directly answering you and it was slightly worrying. "You're beating around the _burning_ shrub of my inquisition. What on Earth possesses you to start suckling on my esophagus?"

"What? You like it."

This was borderline infuriating, now. "You're still dodging my question!" you groan, words heavy with exasperation. "And...stop asking me about the war, alright?" Jesus. "It's nothing personal, I swear, I am just sworn to secrecy. And I mean we've kissed before, which is nice and a jolly good time and all, but this is just getting weird." You release his hand to fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at him.

You hear Dirk draw in a long breath and cast his gaze ever so slightly to the side. "Because I like you. And...I want to do this if you do."

"Do...do what?"

The cryptic shtick he had going for him could be mildly endearing at times but honestly, you were a creature who reacts best to bluntness, and you're about to rip your hair out from frustration. Dirk is giving you a look. A _what the fuck how can you not know this_ look, mouth slightly agape as if he can't believe you're this stupid. Douche. "Are you even-" he begins. "Okay. Okay, just. Relax. Let me make you feel good."

You hope he means he's going to kiss your neck again, but he's resumed reaching for the buttons of your shirt. And...you're not really sure what to do. You don't stop him. You lay down slowly and let him. He's trying to be confident, but by the tremble in his grip and the way he's sucked in his lower lip to gnaw on, you can't see that there's obvious glitches in his façade. You breathe slowly and he has the top one flicked open, and the next, next, down, down, down until you press your palms over your eyes and push your knees together in physical reactions of embarrassment as it falls open and cooler air rushes onto your torso and your forearms prickle with goosebumps.  A small breathless sound escapes your lips as you feel quivering fingertips brush your ribs and shaking thumbs slowly press into your nipples and making small, unsure circles. He’s being so cautious and keeps looking back up at you, probably taking note of what reaction a certain move would provoke, as when you moaned when he ran his nail around the stiff peak and gave a small tug to it, he repeated the action on the other. You are restless now, trying to press into his hands and whining high in your throat when he palms skate down your sides. You shiver.

A gentle kiss is feathered onto your collarbone and you smile, above all things. You smile and while you’re not really sure what he’s doing, it feels nice and you know more than anything else Dirk would never do anything to hurt you. You just hope he’s enjoying himself as much as you. …Well. You can’t see, really. He still has his goddamn glasses on, making his expression more masked than otherwise. If you’re going to be intimate, shouldn’t he take them off? …Come to think of it, you’ve never seen him without his eyewear.  What color are his eyes?

“…Dirk.”

You feel glass against the flat of your stomach and below that, his tongue tracing your navel oh god. “Yo.”

You draw in a breath, hitching in your throat. “If it’s all the same to you, could you maybe doff off your lorgnettes? I feel that some eye-to-eye would be more decorous than not here. Besides…for the whole span we’ve been a romantic dyad I haven’t once seen your eyes! Heck, even before we were!”

You give a short spurt of laughter as he blows a raspberry against your belly. “How do you know I have eyes then? Unless you have a three column chart of data you’ve collected over the months that gives a probable hypothesis that I’m in possession of a pair of oculars you’re really just going on a whim here.”

“You walk!”

“An experienced playgoer like you should’ve seen Slanderman by now, so you should know they’re not entirely necessary.”

“You’re inhuman on some levels but not quite to that extent. …Please, may I?”

He lifts his head and sighs deeply, scratching at the back of his neck before looking at you. “Alright.” He pauses. “Go- wait. Wait. …Alright, go ahead.”

==>  Jake: Take them off.

You need to get over your giddiness that you’re actually being granted permission first and foremost. You’re doing an excited little shake and you reach up and wrap your fingers and the smooth glass and oh-so-gently slide them off the perfect little slope of his nose and draw your arms back. His head is bowed and eyelids down for ease of you removing his eyewear.

And then he tilts his chin up and opens his eyes and your heart skips a beat.

“They’re orange,” you whisper, mystified by the mesmerizing amber irises bearing into yours. “Gods, Dirk, they’re absolutely lovely.”  Everything about him is breathtaking. He honestly has the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever been blessed with the pleasure of viewing.

Other than maybe Jane’s? No. Don’t think about that.

As if sensing your regretfully wandering mind, lips press to yours- lovingly and tender- and you give a content hum, hooking a leg around his waist to draw him closer as you trace his jaw with your fingertips. You feel him lower himself, one wobbly arm supporting his weight next to your head while the other runs up your thigh. The kiss has now escalated to slowly working your jaws against one another in a rhythmic roll of lips, tongue and teeth. Your blood is pounding in your ears and you’re feeling just a little dizzy from lack of breath but it was worth it and then some. More than anything, you want him, you _physically want him_. And when he pulls back again- lazily roving you over with those _gorgeous_ Princeton eyes and smirking- you find his voice to have taken on a deeper, huskier quality that sets your heart afire.

“I’ve got an idea. You trust me, right?”

* * *

==> Jake: Keep it down.

It’s risky, the volume. But you can’t help it.

You are currently splayed on your back, face contorted and breathing in half the world’s oxygen with every gasp and your eyes are squeezed shut and everything hurts like heaven.

“H-ha! Ow, I- shitknickers, how many?”

“Three. It’s okay, I’m not gonna add anymore. Relax, you’re doing great.”

“Oh…please- ngh- please do that thing again.”

“What was that, Mister Verbosity?”

“Go suck the ballsac of a rampaging bull, you know exactly what I m- _ah!_ Ah, god, oh, god oh _fuck_ …”

“Haha. Your sweet spot was shockingly easy to find. Really, all I have to do is press up here-“

“A-ha! Ha-a.”

“-and you melt. Try to stay as quiet as you can though, which I know is kind of a lot to ask, but. …Anyway, tell me when you’re ready, I need to start slicking up on oil when you are. …Jake? You. You still want to do this, right? I- I won’t if-“

“Yes. I- I do.”

“Alright. ...So what would happen if I grabbed right here too.”

“Hn, Dirk!”

* * *

==> Jake: Tear the pillow a new one with your teeth.

There are warm, calloused palms holding down your hips, a small pillow clamped in your mouth so tightly you think you’re actually going to bite through it, a tremor raking your body, and you feel like you’re going to be torn in two in the most ecstasy-dripped way possible.

You’re losing yourself to him and him to you.

Dirk is inside of you, and it’s the best knee-buckling, head-throbbing pain you’ve ever experienced in your life.

He’s grunting and hissing with pleasure that you can only hope equates to the head-spinning euphoria you’re trapped in right now as he pushes himself deeper. Your toes are curling and you’re crying out into the pillow, every muscle rigid and your legs weakly around his hips twitching. It hurts, dear god does it hurt like nothing else you’ve ever felt and you can’t get enough.

Your breathing and heartbeat are erratic as you _mewl_ is the only word you can use to describe it, and it just rises in pitch with every thrust of his wicked hips. This is sloppy and clumsy and everywhere but it takes the air right out of your lungs and you can’t think other than more, more, more! It’s animalistic, this desire you’re harboring, the lust and love intermingled into one tangled knotted mess of need. You love him, you think you love him, and it’s like you’re one person, one soul. You feel the pillow tugged out of your mouth and you would protest if you could talk and if he wasn’t hitting that one spot that made _stars_ dance in your eyes and waves of warmth lap at every nerve of your being. With the feather stuffed cushion out of your jaw, you find yourself instead formulating broken croons and shattered whimpers of his name and desperate vocalizations, tossing your head back to all but scream.

“Jake.”

Your shirt, left unremoved and opened, now clings to your slender, arched frame with sweat.

“Jake. Listen to me.”

Your fingers curl and press into the flesh of your palms, white knuckled, dotting them with crescent-shaped indents.

“Tell me about the war.”

“No.”

“ _Jake._ ” He gives a hard thrust and you wince.

“No.”

Your heart is going to burst out of your chest and he hits again harder. “Tell me about the war.”

“Ah! N-no!”

You want to move your hips and you don’t want him to talk about this and you want to press down but you can’t. You open your eyes for just a moment and clamp a hand over your mouth because his face is inches from yours and his eyes are dark and burning and steely. His lips pull back in the beginnings of a snarl- _Please don’t, not now, please don’t be mad with me Dirk, please stop asking-_ and he brushes against the bundle of nerves inside of you and you temporarily lose your mind. “Tell me what you know!”

He does it again and you’re putty. “Two months!” you cry. “Two or three months!”

“You know more than that.”

He does it again and you choke on an a dry sob of breath. “M-Midday,” you squeak, trembling like a leaf in the wind. You’re not thinking. You can’t think with him doing this and the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“More.”

His hands wrap around the need between your legs and your shoulder blades tense and you suck in a gasp. “That’s a- ah, all I know!” A thumb circles the tip. “ _Dirk!_ "

There is hesitance from him this time. You can’t see his face, though, your eyes are involuntarily shut again. “You’ve got to know more.”

“ _I don’t!_ Please, I’m going-“ And your legs quiver as he gets just the right angle to send you over the edge. Your vision goes white hot. The pressure bubbling in your lower abdomen releases and you do scream. You think it’s his name, but you’re not even sure at this point. It was a word but it could just be some incoherent babble, you wouldn’t be surprised.

You feel him do the same, as you’re suddenly very warm from the inside out.

He slides out of you, which was almost as weird as him going in. Your grip on the sheets goes slack and the damp fabric beneath each of your hands is released. You feel light-headed and wonderful. Dizzy and in love. Lovelovelove.

And guilt.

You feel guilt.

You lift your head to a light kiss planted on your shoulder, amazed you have enough energy to even do that. “You were great, your highness. You’re beautiful. Thank you.”

Your eyelids are already starting to droop with an utter exhaustion like you’ve never felt before. You don’t want to move. You want to lay here with him for the rest of your life. “Dirk?”

“Yeah, your highness?”

“I love you.”

His jaw clenches. He opens his mouth in a silent reply and your eyebrows knit worriedly. Oh. Oh no. Oh god does he not feel the same way is it not requited.

The silence that follows is the most painful thing of the entire night.

“I’ve gotta go. Sweet dreams, Jake.”

You hear the rustling of clothing and the _clink_ of glass.

You’re asleep by the time he’s gone.

 

* * *

[ _You're tired. You're in love._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GobN10ECybc)

[ _And you have the unshakable feeling that something is not quite right._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GobN10ECybc)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so so so sorry for the wait for this. Summer's been busy as hell. Also apologies for the bullshitted ending I needed to wrap this thing up and get it posted.  
> This is an interesting chapter because don't think for a second that Dirk is actually that calm and collected during this whole thing.  
> But that's a story for next chapter, my friends.  
> ALSO. Do take the time to go back through past chapters, I've added music onto all of them to fit them!  
> Enjoy! And thank you all so much for your feedback, it really motivates me and makes me smile!


	10. HIATUS ANNOUNCEMENT

**A/N:** Hello everybody! A couple people have been asking where I've been and if this story will be updated, so I figured I'd answer a couple questions.

This story, currently, is on hiatus, although it's very likely to be discontinued.

I'm very sorry for it, but not only have I been very busy with my schoolwork lately, but I've also been losing interest in Homestuck as well, and therefore don't feel the same motivation to continue. And while Homestuck (and Dirkjake) will always have a special place in my heart and I cherish the memories associated, I've sort of moved on, and now my current fandom is Shingeki no Kyojin, or Attack on Titan. This, however, doesn't mean I've stopped writing! You can follow my modern AU reincarnation Jeanmarco story, _Once Then, Twice Again_  on here, if you'd like, as I will try to keep that one updated regularly. I also have two Ereri ones planned; the first of which will be a humorous story about what happens when Levi gets a job in the medical business called _That's Doctor Thug to You_ , and the second one will be a Pirate AU adventure story (because who doesn't love pirates goddamn) titled _Hempen's Halter_. I also have a few general ideas for a few, and I'll more than likely be posting off-shoot one-shots. 

My tumblr is [haeichou (or jagers.co.vu)](http://jagers.co.vu/) so if anyone would want to drop by and say hi or ask about anything go ahead!

Thank you all for your support. Stay great, guys. <3


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Long time, no see.

So this story is officially discontinued, due to the fact that, as previously stated, I've lost interest in Homestuck and therefore my motivation to continue this, and I'm very sorry. (However, if anyone is interested and hasn't seen it yet, I cannot recommend watching **Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin** highly enough. It's a  _phenomenal_ show, and what I'm writing my current fanfictions off of. If anyone is curious, again as previously stated, I'm currently working on a Jeanmarco- my OTP, oh my God, _talk to me about Jeanmarco_ \- fanfiction which you can find on here called _"Once Then, Twice Again"_ and after that I've got an assassins AU fic planned, a superpower AU fic planned, then a pirates AU and doctors AU, all for SNK.)

But some people have been curious as to where this story was headed, so I figured I might as well say.

**ENDING:**

So as seen in the last chapter, Dirk got information out of Jake, which he planned to use against Prospit. But then their sessions of intimacy grew more frequent, and Dirk starts developing genuine feelings for Jake as well, of which Hal chastises. At one point, during a nightly meeting in Prospit Castle, Jake leaves the room for something, leaving Hal to pester Dirk about his feelings and how he needs to get a move on. Dirk angrily responds that he knows what he's doing, he's the Prince of Derse, and the argument heats up until Dirk is verbally yelling at Hal when Jake walks in, stunned to hear that Dirk was just yelling about betraying Jake and being the Prince. Jake is hurt and angry, and with Dirk's cover being blown, the two engage in an argument, and Jake is so blinded by his rage of being betrayed that he nearly shoots Dirk, who climbs through the window just in time. From there, the war is further planned, and Jake feels guilt about telling Dirk what he did because he knows Dirk can use it against them now. After another month of preparation, the Prospit forces set out to wage war upon Derse, surprised to find Derse ready for them, due to what Jake had said. A battle that Prospit is unprepared for erupts, and many die in it, such as Feferi, Eridan, Nepeta, and the two Queens. The story then switches to John's point of view as the young prince leads his way through battle and, upon seeing the opportunity, stabs the Prince of Derse through the chest. Dirk falls dead, and the battle draws to an abrupt stop. 

Jake, while still angered beyond belief, instantly rushes to Dirk's side, sobbing because despite what happened he still has feelings for Dirk. With both their Queens dead and the Prince of Derse as well, the war reaches an end, both stopping to mourn their losses. Jake lashes angrily out at a confused John, but they later reconcile. The main story ends with Jake going to sleep and finding a smiling Dirk in his dreams, speaking to him, "Have your shorts gotten shorter since the last time I saw you, your highness?"

In an epilogue I had planned, it would've featured Jake a year later, narrating how the two kingdoms have fallen into uneasy co-existence, and how he misses Dirk, and would give anything for another chance with him in another life. The story then comes to a close with a flash forward to canonverse Jake's thirteenth birthday, just installing Pesterchum for the first time, and getting excited over someone who just messages him under the handle of "timaeusTestified". They have a conversation and seem to click with each other, admiring one another's wit and comparing how lonely their lives are to one other. Both state that they aren't used to interactions with other humans and that it's nice to talk to someone. Jake asks this TT person, who he is beginning to grow quite fond of, for his name, as he had missed it. The last line of Perfect Deceptions was to be, "TT: Oh. I'm Dirk." (And I planned for [this to be the ending song to it](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QfGWHTRQK48). Go have a listen, it's beautiful.)

**\--**

So, that's how I was going to end it! I hope that quenches your curiosity. The idea of reincarnation that I was going to end it with was a  _HUGE_ inspiration for my current fanfiction, which revolves around the concept of reincarnation and how it applies to love and fate, so if you'd like to read it, [here you go](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1012054/chapters/2009080).

If you have any further questions or if you just want to say hi, my tumblr is [here](http://haeichou.tumblr.com/). Thank you for reading, thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoyed it!


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